Ghosts of the Past
by Kchan88
Summary: When Chase finds his stepmother as the team's newest patient, his life starts going down a path he could never have expected. Others from his past return, and he finds himself facing one of his greatest fears: Lung Cancer.
1. An Unexpected Patient

A/N: This takes place in season 7 and is Alternate Universe after Recession Proof, which means the House/Cuddy breakup in Bombshells never happened, Masters is still around, and 13 has not yet returned.

Ghosts of the Past: A Chase-centric fanfiction

Chapter 1: An Unexpected Patient

Dr. Robert Chase sat at the glass table in the Diagnostics conference room, a fresh mug of coffee in front of him as he filled out some of the backlogged discharge summaries House had long neglected. He had originally been planning to go and grab dinner with two of his friends from the surgical staff, William and Mark, but both had been called in for an emergency surgery, so here he sat, a mountain of paperwork in front of him. He wasn't entirely sure what had possessed him to take on said paperwork, but it served as a distraction from his life, a distraction from the fact that they'd lost their last patient who had left his poor wife as a widowed single mother. He remembered Masters' horrors stricken face and felt a pang of sympathy for the young med student. He had just completed the third summary when he heard a familiar gait coming down the hall, the glass door swinging open a moment later.

"What are you doing here?" Chase asked. "Shouldn't you be with Cuddy? Or Wilson?"

"Shouldn't you be charming that hot new nurse on our floor to sleep with you?" House countered, sitting down at the head of the table.

"I'm putting that to rest for a while," Chase admitted, knowing it was easier just to tell House the truth. "I got tired of it. And it isn't in my nature, really. Just a distraction."

House smirked. "I see Masters has had an effect on you. Adorable."

"Cut the crap House. I'm trying to work. Seriously, why are you here?"

"So you never told me," House deflected, pulling his glasses from his pocket and perusing the file he'd brought in. "What did everyone on the surgical staff think when you transferred back here last year?"

Chase sighed, but was ever amused at House's persistence. "They think I'm a masochist," he answered, giving into the fact that trying to continue his work was pointless now. "But they don't really question me about it since the fistfight."

"Ah yes," House grinned. "My pissing contest with Dave Thomas over you. I'd almost forgotten. Wish I'd gotten that on videotape."

Chase felt a half-smile creep onto his face. "Was that a backhanded compliment?"

"No," House said, averting his eyes. "Who do you take me for?"

"Are you ever going to tell me why you're here?" Chase asked again, a cough marring his words. He could feel the oncoming of a cold from the ever present tickle in this throat during the past two days.

"New patient," House said, keeping a tight grip on the file and piquing Chase's curiosity. "I was going to call you in, but here you are."

"Just me?" Chase asked, raising one eyebrow in disbelief. "What about everybody else?"

"Thought you might like to see this patient first," House replied, dangling the file from his fingertips.

Chase seized the file, his reflexes quicker than House's, mouth dropping open in shock when he read the name on the file: Dr. Melinda Theresa Chase.

"My stepmother!" Chase exclaimed. "What…we…" he stuttered on, not quite able to process.

"She was at a medical conference in New York and came down with some odd symptoms that three doctors haven't been able to figure out in as many days," House said, a slightly evil grin overtaking his features. "She asked to be transferred here."

"It takes a whole lot more than just strange symptoms to get you to take a case," Chase argued. "It takes really bizarre symptoms. A lot of them."

"You don't want to treat your own stepmother?" House questioned, eyebrows shooting up towards his hairline.

"It's not…" Chase started, his reflexes to keep his life as private as possible flexing themselves once again; he was tired of his personal business somehow being whispered about in the corridors. He'd had enough of that after Cameron had left. "We shouldn't treat people we know. It's not ethical."

"Right," House countered, sarcasm in his tone. "Because we've never done that before. And 'we' don't know her. You do. And I'm sure you can keep yourself together. Now scamper and go get a history. She wants to see you."

A few minutes later Chase walked down the hallway, file in hand, cursing his boss under his breath. It wasn't that he didn't like his stepmother…he actually was fond of her and had known her since he was young boy and she first started working at Melbourne General with his father. To Rowan's credit, he hadn't pulled a cliché and married someone twenty years younger than him after he'd left Isabelle and Robert; Melinda was just two years younger and had been a colleague of Rowan's for years. She'd often tried to serve as a peacemaker between father and son after she'd married Rowan, and he'd appreciated her kind, if mostly futile efforts. Still, this whole situation was unsettling to Chase. He hadn't seen Melinda in two years, not since his wedding to Cameron, and it was odd having his two lives colliding in such a way. He sighed, steeling himself and plastering a confident smile on his face before sliding open the glass door.

"Melinda?" he asked, getting her attention. Her wavy, always slightly frazzled hair was streaked with more gray than he remembered, and it struck him heavily in that moment how starkly she contrasted with his mother's looks; Isabelle had had long, golden blonde hair and eyes that looked just like Chase's, while Melinda had dark brown hair and espresso colored eyes.

"Robert," she greeted him, a smile gracing her features. "Sorry to be meeting you like this, dear. You've cut your hair."

"A while back, yeah," he said, running a hand over his shorter locks.

"After the divorce?" she prodded, voice a tad softer.

Chase was startled that she mentioned it out loud, but held back his surprise. "Shortly before it was finalized," he responded, clearing his throat. "So I see you're having an odd array of symptoms," he flipped through the file again. "Slight tachycardia, low blood pressure, headaches, nausea…started out with flu like symptoms, but whatever it is has obviously progressed so we can rule that out. We'll probably test first for infections or toxins, but House sent me in here to get a history just in case."

Melinda gazed at him for a moment, an unreadable expression on her sickly pale face, and Chase was suddenly reminded of her phone call to the hospital when she'd told him Rowan had died, how her tone had been melancholy, heartwrenching. He had been unable to tell if she'd known of his father's decision not tell him he was dying or if indeed she'd had no idea of his deception toward his own son; she had maintained an odd neutrality when he'd sounded so shocked.

"That makes sense," she said, jolting him from his thoughts. "I've had my staff at Melbourne General Diagnostics read some of the articles that have come through your department, told them about some of the cases of yours I've heard about. It sets a standard."

Chase smiled at her, twiddling his pen in his fingers. "We certainly get some weird cases," he responded.

She nodded, placing a hand on her head. "We'd better get this history down before this starts up again."

"Here," he said, getting up and retrieving a cup of water and wetting a small washcloth in the bathroom with warm water. He sat back down, concerned. "We'll make this quick, I promise."

Twenty or so minutes later he slid the door closed, bidding her goodnight and making sure to order pain medication for her headaches, which were growing worse. He walked back toward Diagnostics, feeling strangely sore. He knew he should eat something as he knew he was in for a long night at the hospital but oddly found he wasn't hungry, so once he was back in the conference room he made for coffee pot instead, finding it already half full and fairly fresh, a post it note in House's scrawl stuck to the front.

'Have fun pulling an all-nighter! Feel free to page Foreman at 5 a.m. if you get bored.'

Chase shook his head, chuckling a little. He sat down at the computer with his coffee, preparing to type out his medical history notes and print off copies for the rest of the team, as his handwriting, like any doctor's, was often difficult to read. He sipped his coffee, hardly able to believe this was happening, hardly able to believe that his completely normal day has turned a total 180 without warning, although after some of the things that had happened in his life he supposed he shouldn't have been surprised. Seeing Melinda again made him ache inside for Australia in a way he hadn't for quite some time; he ached for the beaches, for the warmth, for the friends he'd left behind. He'd gone to Australia on his honeymoon with Cameron, and then again the Christmas after she'd left him to spend the holiday with his best friend Andrew and his family, simply because he couldn't bear to spend it alone. Sometimes he wondered if maybe he should move back, but knew that would open up the Pandora's box of the past he'd tried so hard to escape from when he came to America. He would always love his home…but going back there permanently didn't seem like the right thing.

He typed away, his mind drifting back to his stepmother's case. He'd been a bit surprised when she hadn't offered a potential diagnosis of her own; she'd started running her own diagnostics department when he was just starting medical school himself, and it had been that which first sparked his interest in the field. The more he studied the history he'd taken, the more concerned he became that her heart was in trouble. He'd just reached for the phone in order to schedule an echocardiogram when his cell phone vibrated, signaling a new e-mail. Since it was past midnight he was uncertain as to who it could be, and he dropped his phone in surprise when his eyes landed on the sender's name: it was from Cameron. He opened the message with slightly shaking hands, totally bewildered. The only contact he'd had with Cameron since her cryptic appearance and their passionate goodbye during the hospital lockdown was a piece of mail from his lawyer telling him that the divorce was finalized, and that didn't really count for anything. His eyes flitted over the message, hardly able to focus.

_Robert,_

_I'm not entirely sure if I should be writing this e-mail, but I thought…I thought I'd just say hello. Remember all that time ago when I said that even if things didn't work out between us, that even if we ended up on other sides of the world, that I'd still be there if you really needed me? That's still true. I just wanted you to know that, even if I'm not really sure why._

_I've been working as an attending in the Immunology department at St. Francis Hospital in Chicago for the past six months, and I'm enjoying it. They have a really great community outreach program here that I've gotten involved in. I've been throwing myself into my work, which I imagine you wouldn't find surprising. _

_Anyway, write back if you like and let me know what's going on with you. _

_Sincerely,_

_~ Allison_

Chase placed his phone on the desk and closed the message, unable to think of a satisfactory answer at the moment, unsure if he even wanted to answer. Part of him appreciated her attempt at what he supposed was friendship, but part of him just wasn't ready to compose a reply; some days he felt like he had finally moved on from her, but other days it was painfully clear that he had done no such thing. He went back to Melinda's file, trying to push the e-mail from his mind, the words of Elvis Costello's Allison playing inside his head.

He had planned on waiting for the team to come in at 8, but was forced to page them all, House included, at 6 a.m. when Melinda had another bout of severe tachycardia and he'd had to shock her back into rhythm. The team sat around the table examining the file and the white board, contemplating the symptoms Chase had taken the liberty of writing up on the white board, causing House to complain about people touching his markers.

"I'm thinking it's the heart," Foreman said, looking up at the rest of them. "We should wait to see what the echo tells us. Maybe get an MRI since there's headaches involved, in case it's something neurological." He glanced over at Chase, who was glaring at the symptoms on the whiteboard, as though he could will a correct diagnoses to come to them out of sheer mind power. "I know I'll just get shot down," he continued, "But should you really be working this case Chase? She is your stepmother."

"Like we haven't treated people we've known before," House scoffed, leaning against the counter and sipping his coffee in the most surly manner possible. "We're keeping the case and Chase is also staying on it."

"Because you think it's an interesting case or because you think it's interesting to have Chase treating his stepmother?" Taub chimed in, raising one eyebrow.

"That's for me to know and you to wonder," House evaded.

"It started out with flu symptoms," Masters stated, obviously deciding to focus on the case. "So it could be an infection. We should run cultures and start broad spectrum antibiotics."

"It could be a toxin," Chase said, turning back to face the rest of the team. "Looks a little bit like carbon monoxide poisoning."

"Could be drugs," House added.

"She doesn't do drugs," Chase said, turning to face his boss. "Never has."

"Excuse me," House cut in. "But _how_ often do you see her?"

Recognizing that he'd given into House's attempt at getting a rise out of him, he avoided arguing further. "The point is, we should check her hotel room."

"Manhattan is over an hour from here not counting traffic," House said, leaning heavily on his cane. "Go run the echo, the MRI and the tox screen for drugs, then you can go check her hotel room if nothing turns up. In the meantime help Masters with the MRI and the Echo. Bert and Ernie over here can draw blood for the cultures and the tox screen." He grinned, and Chase knew it could only be because he was up to something. "And I'll start the antibiotics myself."

"You're going to talk to a patient before they're at death's door?" Master's questioned, her mouth hanging open in shock.

"She's Chase's stepmother. I'm curious," House said, following a sympathetic looking Foreman and Taub out the door.

Chase drummed his fingers on the table for a few moments, an irritation he hadn't felt toward House in a long time coming forth. He'd admit to an affection and an immense respect for his boss and mentor, but most of the time the man was incorrigible. He coughed again and rubbed his throat, noting that he should probably take another dose of Theraflu in a couple of hours.

"Are you sick?" Masters asked, looking concerned.

"Probably just a little cold," Chase said, giving her a smile. She always looked a bit like a lost puppy every time House did something new that stepped over the lines of normality. He still found it amusing, but he'd enjoyed taking her under his wing. "Come on, let's go set up the MRI and get Melinda for the Echo. Hopefully House won't have time to ask too many embarrassing questions."

A/N: A bit of an odd ending, I know, but I'm never great at ending introductory chapters. I'm sorry if this starts off a bit slow, but I promise it will pick up in the next chapter. I hope you enjoyed it! On a random note, did anybody else enjoy the wonderful amount of Chase screen time in last week's episode? I know I did!


	2. Three Ghosts

Ghosts of the Past

Chapter 2: Three Ghosts

Chase drummed his fingers on the table in the MRI booth, eyes focused on the images popping up on the screen. Masters sat beside him, looking nervous. They had walked into Melinda's room two hours earlier to find House of all people, laughing with her over a story of Chase as a young boy, something to do with one of his visits to the hospital when he was 7 or 8 and how he'd been so excited to see his father that he'd bowled over one of the orderlies. Blatantly ignoring his boss' comments, he had taken his stepmother in for her echocardiogram and then had headed with Masters to get the MRI. Melinda was looking more peaked by the minute.

"So," Masters said, obviously wanting to break the awkward silence. "When was the last time you saw your stepmother?"

Not possessing the energy to come up with a lie, Chase told the inquisitive student the truth. He was entirely on edge, but took refuge in the fact that he was at least talented at hiding it from others.

"It's been almost two years," he said, avoiding her eyes. "She was at my wedding."

Masters' eyes widened slightly in surprise, and he couldn't blame her; ever since she'd come to the team he'd been sleeping around, acting like a man who hated commitment when the truth was he was just running from the pain of losing Cameron, and just running from everything in general, losing himself in the arms of women, something he'd always sworn he'd never do. Being what American culture often referred to as a "player" had never been in his genetic makeup, and yet, here he was, hardly recognizing himself. Foreman and Taub had kept quiet about his former relationship out of a strange sort of respect for his privacy, and House had been too busy with Cuddy to bother filling Masters' in on his personal life.

"You were married?" she asked, obviously trying to hide her surprise. "I didn't know that."

"I guess you don't pay attention to the rumor mill," he said, a small smile forming on his face in amusement at her lack of socialization. "But yes, I was married to a doctor who used to work here. Allison Cameron. She started working on House's team about six months after I did, then moved to the ER the same time I moved to surgery."

Before Masters could question him further, Melinda's voice came over the speaker.

"Robert, I'm having a bit of trouble breathing…is this going to take much longer?" she asked, taking gasps of air between words.

"Just a couple of minutes and then we'll get you out of there and on some more oxygen," Chase answered, wrinkling his brow in worry. "Can you hold on so we can get these last images?"

"Yes," she whispered. "I can."

Chase clicked the speaker off, turning to Masters with a slight frown. "Maybe it's acute respiratory distress syndrome," he said. "These images are looking absolutely clear, which would rule out Foreman's neurological theory. And her heart rate is all over the place."

Masters looked thoughtful. "Could be lactic acidosis," she offered. "Still, you were right in saying someone should go and check her hotel room."

Chase nodded, giving the last image a once over before hitting the button to release Melinda from the claustrophobic chamber. He left the booth and walked over to check on her, finding himself heartily worried about the woman who had always been so kind to him, even if in the deepest part of his soul he couldn't help but resent her a little for taking his mother's place in Rowan's life. She'd been there, he remembered the night Isabelle had died from the symptoms of alcoholic liver and kidney failure, had helped counsel Rowan on how to deal with a grieving 17-year-old boy he hardly knew anymore.

"How are you feeling?" he asked, offering his hand to help her sit up, noting just how icy her skin felt.

"Not so hot, as they say," she answered. "But I'm in good hands."

"Absolutely," he said, turning his head as he felt his cough returning. He wasn't really congested and yet the pesky thing wouldn't go away. He'd been on prescription allergy medication since moving to the States, and supposed it was time to talk to his own physician about upping the dosage.

"Are you alright?" she asked, her gaze piercing as though she suspected something.

"Just a silly cough," he said. "My allergies have been awful since I moved to the States."

"Are you sure?" she questioned, looking wholly unconvinced. She'd always perceptive, a trait which didn't fade with age.

Chase made to respond when Melinda's eyes suddenly rolled back, her body shaking violently with all the signs of a seizure. His intensivist reflexes like lightning, Chase laid her down on her side and pushed her knees up, trying to control the convulsions.

"Masters, grab some diazepam off the crash cart in the hallway!" he exclaimed, watching as the young genius ran like a frightened gazelle to retrieve said medication. She returned seconds later, handing him the syringe and taking his place trying to hold Melinda still. Chase injected the medication, and after a few seconds Melinda's body finally started to calm down.

"I think House will agree to let you check her hotel now," Masters said, the trademark awkward smile slipping onto her face.

"Melinda had a seizure," Chase stated as he walked into the conference room with Masters after they had settled Melinda back into her room and sent in an order for Diazepam to prevent any further seizures, along with an oxygen mask to assist her labored breathing. "And her breathing is getting worse. Can I go check her hotel room now? Pretty please?"

"Since the tox screen was negative for drugs and the antibiotics aren't working, I'll have to say yes," House answered, twirling his cane in the air beside him. "Take…"

"I think I'll just go solo," Chase said, cutting his boss off, causing the older man to raise his eyebrows in surprise. They'd developed a very amiable, joking rapport since he'd returned to the team. The relationship contained a little less of the mentor-student aspect than it once had; he'd earned House's grudging respect, and now for some reason he felt once more like the young doctor in his late 20s who flinched at any sign of House's near incessant taunting.

"Someone's titchy," he said, but showed all the signs of giving into Chase's request. "Go ahead. We'll do an alternate DDX while you're gone."

"Sounds good," Chase responded sarcastically before walking out the door, ignoring the implication that they would come up with a better diagnosis without him. He was only mere steps down the hall when he heard House shout directions to the rest of the fellows before limping after him down the hall.

"Hey," he called, the thump of his cane echoing against the linoleum as he caught Chase's slowing stride. "What's got you so tied up in knots that you start biting my head off? You usually agree with me."

Chase sighed, again feeling inexplicably irritated. "I've thought it might be carbon monoxide from the start and you wouldn't listen," he said, turning to face House. "It's frustrating."

House rolled his eyes, those bright blue orbs that Chase always felt could pierce straight through his skin and read what was written on his mind, even after almost eight years of knowing the man. "Since when do I listen to anyone?" he questioned. "Man do you lose any sense of fun when your family comes around."

Chase knew he was referencing Rowan's visit shortly before he'd died, but he didn't verbalize the thought.

"I'll call you when I find something out," Chase replied, sticking his hands in his pockets as he started walking again. He didn't hear House's cane following along behind him, and found he was quite surprised when he heard his voice instead.

"Chase," he said, tone less grating, more even…trying to remain neutral as the shadow of an emotion crept in.

Chase turned partway and met his twisted mentor's eye, noting that for a moment there was a flash of remorse for something Chase couldn't quite put his finger on. Maybe it was for his part in sabotaging his marriage with Cameron, maybe it was for firing him these several years ago, maybe it was sympathy for the possibility of him losing yet another person in his life…maybe it was because he thought he saw his duckling turning slowly into an image of himself. The pair had maintained a sort of dysfunctional father/son relationship from the beginning, and Wilson had once even dared to refer to Chase as House's protégée which had earned a glare from the ornery diagnostician but no verbal protests.

They stared at each other for a moment, relating on a level that neither of them understood or could comprehend at present. They were similar it was true, but House had long recognized in Chase a type of hope that he had never been able to keep ahold of, yet he had seen that hope sliding down a very slippery slope in the past months. That youthful, oddly innocent spark in the Australian's eyes had been all but doused.

"Never mind. Get going before she gets worse," House said, turning back toward Diagnostics, the remorse in his eyes gone as quick as it had come.

An hour later Chase found himself sitting in the inevitable Manhattan traffic, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel, an oldies station playing Simon and Garfunkel in the background. On the whole he had avoided thinking much about any aspect of his past in recent months, including his father, his mother, Cameron, his life in Australia. His nearly life-long best friend Andrew had come to visit a few weeks ago, entreating him to take some of his vacation and come back to Australia for a couple of weeks, but he had declined, knowing it would open up a torrent of emotions he wasn't ready to face. He had focused on work, then focused on women, then focused on work again. As he hit another red-light jam a few miles from Melinda's hotel, he found he was losing himself in a memory, driving on auto-pilot.

_He could hear Allison's laughter from where she stood across the lawn, her elder brother Peter and her younger sister Christine no doubt teasing her._ _He had just slipped away from Mr. and Mrs. Cameron, his best man Andrew, Foreman, and Thirteen in order to grab a glass of champagne from one of the tables, something he hadn't had time to do as the receiving line had taken so long and they hadn't yet cut the cake. He had just taken his first sip when he felt a hand squeeze his shoulder, turning to see the familiar mane of slightly frazzled dark brown hair and kind smile of his stepmother. _

_ "Hello there," she said, accent as thick as ever. "I thought I'd grab you while I had the chance."_

_ "It's pretty crazy," Chase responded, running a hand over his newly shaven face. _

_ "Everyone wants to talk to the bride and groom," Melinda said, taking a sip of her own champagne and looking as though she'd come over to say something in particular. She hesitated for a second, but continued on, looking rather resolute. "Your father would be proud of you today you know," she said. "Proud of what you've become."_

_ Words that should have brought a sense of warmth, of comfort, felt to Chase like he'd had the wind knocked out of him. He knew that in part, Melinda's words were true. But his relationship with his father had never been simple, had never been easy, had never been what he wanted it to be. Rowan had loved him in his own way, yes, but this was the same man who had neglected to inform his own son that he was dying, a concept that Chase couldn't wrap his head around more than three years after the fact. But despite all that, he still wished his father had been alive to come to his wedding. Wished his mother had been alive. He glanced over at Allison, who was heading in his and Melinda's direction, and that balloon of happiness that had been present in his chest all day swelled again._

_ "I hope so," he responded, a small smile on his face. "I wish he could have been here. He met Allison when he came to Princeton of course, but we weren't together then. I'm glad you came though, I know it was long trip."_

_ "I couldn't miss your wedding, dear!" she exclaimed. "Even if I weren't your stepmother I would have wanted to come. I've known you since you were a little boy."_

_ He grinned as Allison came up beside them and embraced Melinda; she was practically glowing in her white dress, and she looked happier than he'd ever seen her. The fact that she was his wife still floored him._

_ "Keeping my husband in line?" she asked Melinda, moving to loop her arm through Chase's. _

_ "Why of course," Melinda said, winking at Chase. "You put together a beautiful ceremony dear, truly."_

_ "Thank you," Allison responded, her side lightly touching Chase's now, as if she craved the contact. "I'm just glad the weather turned out…._

Chase was thrown out of his walk down memory lane as several cars honked beside him, angry that another car had cut them off, profanities no doubt slipping from their lips. Twenty minutes later he pulled up to the valet station of the Hyatt Melinda had been staying in during her conference, only to be greeted by a grim looking teenager. He rolled down the window, wondering what the problem was.

"We've had to close down the hotel temporarily sir," he said. "We've had a carbon monoxide leak in some of the second floor air conditioning units and we didn't want to risk contamination on any of the floors that weren't affected."

Chase looked down at the key Melinda had given him: she had been in room 252.

"There's already been some contamination," Chase told him, watching as his mouth drooped down into a frown. "I'm a doctor at Princeton-Plainsboro, and I was coming here to check on my patient's hotel room because I suspected this. Do you have any details on what exactly happened? Or the length of the exposure?"

"I'm just a valet sir, but here," he reached in his pocket and pulled out a business card. "Here's the manager's number. Give her a call, and she'll know."

"Thanks very much," Chase said, nodding at him before turning back around to leave the parking lot. He picked up his cell phone and dialed Foreman, because he was the only one on the team who regularly picked up his cell phone. Predictably, he picked up on the third ring.

"Hey," he said on the other end. "What's up? Did you find out anything?"

"Yeah," Chase answered. "The whole damn place is closed down because there was a carbon monoxide leak on the second floor, right where Melinda was staying. I got the manager's number so we can ask him how long it went on, etcetera. I knew I was right about this."

"I'll get her into the hyperbaric chamber and start fluids," Foreman said, sounding relived that they'd found a diagnosis more quickly than usual. "I can't believe those other doctors didn't figure it out."

"It looks like a lot of other common things, I guess," Chase said, pulling back out onto the highway. "Keep her on the diazepam too, just to make sure. She doesn't need another seizure. And make sure House…" His words were cut off by a cough that racked his body, his eyes widening in surprise. Out of reflex, he coughed into his sleeve.

"Chase?" Foreman asked. "You okay man?"

Chase was about to answer when he felt something warm trickle down his chin and when he reached up his hand to see what it was, he found his fingers smeared with blood. Shocked, he took his eyes off the road for a second, staring down at his hand.

"Chase?" Foreman asked again, more urgently.

"I…" Chase stuttered, a sick sort of terror overcoming him, mind racing with the possibilities of what was causing this. "I'm coughing up blood." He coughed again, feeling the hot, sticky liquid coming up his throat.

"What?" Foreman asked, concern mixing in with his incredulity. "Why would…"

But Chase didn't hear what Foreman said next; all he heard was the sound of his spluttering cough and the ear-wrenching sound of metal hitting metal.

A/N: I'm so sorry it took me so long to update this! Work was a little insane. Anyway, hope this wasn't too slow, things should be moving along now! Thanks to everyone who has read or reviewed!


	3. Reactions

Ghosts of the Past

Chapter 3: Reactions

The way the EMT's voices were cutting in and out reminded Chase of how it sounded when he was trying to talk on his cell phone with a spotty signal. He opened his eyes half-way, his head very much feeling as though it had split open, although he knew that his body was probably in such shock from the impact that he wasn't feeling nearly as much pain as he should have been.

"He was wearing an I.D. from Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital in Jersey," one of the EMT's was telling what looked to be an N.Y.P.D cop who had just arrived. "We called them and spoke to a Dr. Eric Foreman, who requested he be airlifted there."

Chase made to speak, and one of the paramedics knelt down close to his face. It was a woman with fiery red hair and a warm expression that reminded him of his mother's in the days before she took constantly to the bottle, when she would sit by his bedside and read to him whenever he was ill, brushing his hair gently back from his face.

"Dr. Chase, don't try to speak, okay?" she said, grasping the side of the gurney to help lift him into the helicopter. "We're going to take care of you and get you to Princeton."

Chase nodded as blackness crept around the edges of his eyes before taking over completely…

…_"Rowan, he's a seventeen-year-old boy who lost his mother a mere month ago," Melinda insisted, hand resting on her hip as Robert spied the pair from his perch at the bottom of the staircase. "He's going to be a bit moody. You have to be patient."_

_ "I know he's upset," Rowan countered, tone implying he was anything but patient. "But he cannot be allowed to waste his future because of it. Majoring in Philosophy? What kind of nonsense…"_

_ "He's considered being a priest for years, you said that yourself," Melinda said, curling her hand around Rowan's larger wrist and squeezing it. "Just support him. Perhaps you can persuade him to do a double major and add pre-med, just in case he changes his mind about the priesthood."_

_ Robert clenched his fist, knowing his step-mother was just trying to be helpful but also knowing that his father's word was law when he came to financing his university education. He stepped around the corner, making his presence known, ready to argue his point._

_ "My mother is DEAD!" he exclaimed. "And this is all you can discuss?" His blazing blue-green eyes met his father's hazel orbs, his lanky frame shaking all over…_

_ …Chase stood frozen to the linoleum floor beneath him, phone glued to his hand._

_ "Robert, are you there?" Melinda's voice asked, sounding hoarse from tears._

_ Chase didn't answer, merely letting the phone almost slide from his hands before putting it back in the cradle. His father was dead and he was officially orphaned. Rowan had stood there all those weeks ago and returned his son's embrace, not bothering to tell him that he only had three months left on this earth, had hidden it as though that was what people did. He'd told a blatant, heinous lie without ever uttering a word. Chase's blood felt cold in his veins, and the world threatened to never cease its spinning…_

_ …He found himself thinking about the day he'd first interviewed for the fellowship position at Princeton-Plainsboro, sweaty with nerves, but trying to keep calm on the outside, as he heard Cameron hastily packing her suitcase in the adjoining bedroom. He heard barely stifled sobs and the scraping of the wheels on the hardwood. She hugged him, and he found he could scarcely return it in his state of shock._

_ "We haven't even properly talked about this," he whispered, trying to look her directly in the eyes even as she tried to look away. "We were going to work through this, you said…you said we would," he stumbled over his words, hardly able to string together a sentence as his hopes of creating the family he'd been robbed of as a child shattered at his feet. Dibala's merciless expression as he'd seized Cameron's wrist and told her the gun rested in her hands, appeared before Chase's eyes, then morphed into his face caked with the seemingly never-ending flow of blood streaming from his mouth, the monitors screeching like banshees in response._

_ She met his gaze, finally, eyes already red and puffy. She was leaving even if it looked as though it was the last thing she wanted to do, as though some invisible force of her past was pushing her out the door…_

"Would you listen for two seconds!" Foreman exclaimed, the ire obvious in his eyes. "He started coughing up blood BEFORE he got into the crash. We need to tell them that! The bleeding caused him to be distracted, and he got into the crash, the crash didn't cause the bleeding."

"How do you know he was coughing up blood?" House questioned, leaning heavily on his cane and looking far from amused. "It could have been something else…it could have…"

"He said it was blood," Foreman protested, shouting over the screams of the machines monitoring Chase's vitals, signaling that he was on the edge of a hypertensive crisis. "He's a doctor, so I assume he knows what blood looks like."

"Oh so now you're willing to believe someone's opinion other than your own?" House shot back scathingly.

"Why are you jumping on me!" Foreman exclaimed. "I didn't cause Chase to get into the car wreck."

House looked ready to argue when a firm voice from behind cut them off, sharp and unyeilding.

"Stop arguing, both of you!" Cuddy shouted, heels clicking on the linoleum as she approached, a terrified looking Masters tailing behind her. "Why didn't you come tell me what happened?" she asked, turning to House, her eyes wide with worry, hardly able to maintain her businesslike work demeanor in light of this development. She glared at the several groups of hospital employees who had gathered about, curious and gawking.

"I was a little busy being pulled away from The Housewives of New Jersey to be told one of _my_ doctors was in a car crash," he snapped. "I see Dr. Genius came to tell you."

"I thought she should know," Masters said, glancing over at the bed where Chase lay unconscious, her expression stricken with an unbridled fear, yet she was unafraid to step on House's toes even in this tense situation. "She's the Dean of medicine and your girlfriend."

"What's the status?" Cuddy asked before House could bite Masters' head off. She turned to Foreman, desperate for some sense.

"I was on the phone with him when he was driving back from Manhattan," Foreman began. "And he started coughing blood. The next thing I knew, I heard the crash. He was conscious when they arrived on the scene but now he's unconscious and not responding to certain stimuli, which is making them afraid he's slipping into a coma, his heart rhythm is still erratic, even after they shocked him back into rhythm, he has several broken ribs, a sprained wrist and an incredibly severe concussion. They're trying to prevent him from having a brain bleed. The EMT's said he really smashed his head on the roof of his car. I was trying to tell them that he was coughing up blood before, and to put that in the equation."

"Once his vitals are stable, we'll tell them," Cuddy said, eyes roving back over to House, whose eyes were trained on the Australian, barely visible from the cloud of doctors and nurses surrounding him. "If we get in their way now it will take them longer to get him stable. Now on the matter of his emergency contact…"

Before she could continue, Wilson strode over, looking rather haggard himself, his normally pristine oxford wrinkled and un-tucked, tie loosened around the edges of his collar. He looked like a man who had seen far too much during his time as a doctor, and the strange fear that everyone was feeling was present in the gleam of his dark eyes; this was one of their own, and that was scary as hell.

"Taub is watching over Mrs. Chase," he said, eyes landing on House before turning to anyone else. "She heard what had happened and wanted to come and see Chase, but I told her to stay where she was, that she needed to rest and let the treatment work. What's the news?"

"They're working on stabilizing him," Cuddy said. "We were just talking about Chase's medical emergency contact. I was looking into his file and it looks like…"

"It's Cameron," House said, speaking up but not meeting Cuddy's gaze. "He never changed it after the divorce. Probably forgot. Or just didn't want to deal with it."

"He's right," Foreman said, massaging his temples with his right hand. "They put each other down after they'd been together for about six months, at Cameron's insistence. We _should_ call her, although..."

"Legally, I'm obligated to do so," Cuddy interrupted, looking terribly uncomfortable, eyes flitting over to Chase's unmoving form. "Even if he just forgot to take her off the form, she's still there. And we can't just wait until he regains consciousness…that could be days."

"You're right," Wilson chimed in, sticking his hands in the pockets of his lab coat. "And even if she wasn't on there, she deserves a phone call."

"Does she?" House questioned, eyes finally moving from Chase to his best friend. "She's his ex-wife. Emphasis on ex. I'm not terribly sure that would be a fantastic idea for either of them."

Cuddy turned to him, putting a careful hand on his shoulder. He looked at her briefly, and for a moment she could see fear breaking through his usual feigned apathy. Before she could speak however, he broke away and made his way over to Dr. Warren, the female senior attending in the ER who had taken Cameron's place.

"What's the deal, Warren?" House barked, pointing his cane toward his fallen fellow.

"He's stable," Warren said, remaining calm despite House's demeanor. "Barely. He's still unconscious though, and there's danger of him sliding into a coma, although we have gotten his blood pressure under control. There's still some residual bleeding coming from his..."

"Mouth?" Housed finished for her. "Dr. Foreman said he was coughing up blood before the crash. Might want to look into that."

"I don't need the attitude, Dr. House," she replied, raising one eyebrow, unfazed by his behavior, focused solely on the task at hand. "I'll make sure he gets a chest CT scan before we send him to the ICU for the night, to check and see where the source of the bleeding is."

"Make sure I get a copy of everything," House said before turning away.

Warren didn't argue the point that perhaps House was too close to the situation to serve as attending physician, instead turning around to tend to Chase, who lay unmoving in the small ER bed. It struck House in that moment, how often he used to spy Chase lounging on one of those beds when he was meeting Cameron for a coffee or a lunch break during the years they'd been together. He'd looked almost carefree then, a far cry from how helpless he looked now.

"Foreman, Masters, stay here and make sure they _do_ send him in to get the CT scan, then take turns monitoring him and wait for the results," House said, eyeing them both, his tone leaving no room for other suggestions. "And make sure Taub keeps you and me up to date on Melinda's condition, and that she knows Chase is stable."

Foreman nodded, his eyes pools of concern, the cool, professional exterior cracked. It was true that he and Chase had surely had their differences, had sometimes fought like children in the early years, but they'd become friends and had even been known to spend time together outside of work, going to grab a drink or talk about whatever was happening in their lives. They worked well together, and although they often took jabs at each other about who was in charge in House's absence, they trusted each other's medical opinions absolutely. Masters skittered as close as she dared to Chase's beside so as not to get in the way, eyes wide as a deer in the headlights. Despite himself, the Australian had become a bit of a mentor to her over the past few weeks, especially during the course of treating their last patient. With a flick of his wrist House beckoned Cuddy and Wilson to come with him to his office. They followed silently along the corridors and up the elevator, uncharacteristically waiting for House to speak first in light of the situation.

"He's got lung cancer," he finally said unceremoniously, sitting down behind his desk and rubbing his leg instinctively.

"That's a bit of a jump isn't it?" Cuddy questioned, voice containing a slight shrillness in her surprise. "Sometimes sinus infections can make you cough up blood."

House shook his head, watching Wilson's expression change from worried to horrified as he processed the idea. "I saw the signs, I just didn't realize. He's had this persistent cough for a week, but no signs of congestion, even though he said it was allergies. He's lost weight, and he's been tired even after his usual thousand cups of coffee. He's been massaging his joints as if they were hurting."

"That doesn't necessarily mean," Wilson cut in, trying to divert his best friend from thinking the worst right off the bat.

"It does!" House shouted. "You know the history, boy wonder oncologist. His father's cancer was asymptomatic long enough that it got to stage 4 without him noticing. It's no surprise Chase didn't realize. Or just didn't want to admit it."

Cuddy stood rooted to the spot, placing a daring hand on her suitor's shoulder. He didn't shake her off, but he didn't respond. She squeezed it, exchanging a glance with Wilson. House was harsh and mocked everyone he came into contact with, but both of them knew he cared about his fellows in his own warped way, and Chase had been with him the longest, had still been very much on House's radar even when he was working in surgery. It had been the ultimate sign of House's professional respect when he'd asked Chase to do the surgical procedures for almost all his patients in the little over two years he was gone from the team. House hadn't been as bewildered as everyone else had been when, after his marriage crumbled, Chase made his temporary return to Diagnostics permanent.

"We'll know more when we get the results of the CT scan," she said, looking nervous as the glass door swung open and Melinda walked in, still looking pale.

"What's happened to Robert?" she demanded, leaning lightly against the glass wall. "How is he?"

Cuddy and House didn't argue as Wilson made his way over to the worried, sickly woman; he was better than anyone at breaking bad news, House's jokes aside. He put a gentle hand on her shoulder.

"He's stable," he began. "They're running a CT scan now to check for the source of some bleeding that was occurring before the crash, and then putting him in the ICU. He's got several broken ribs, slightly erratic heart rhythms, a sprained wrist, and a severe concussion," he stopped for a moment, hesitant even in his experience. "He's not responding to stimuli and they are afraid he might slip into a coma, though it's too early to tell. But they have prevented a brain hemorrhage so far."

Melinda moved to sit in the white armchair in the corner, lines of concern etched into her face.

"Mrs. Chase," Cuddy said, looking more bent out of shape by the minute, genuinely worried about the younger doctor who she'd seen grow into a truly excellent physician in his time at Princeton-Plainsboro. "You should really go back to your room and get some rest."

"I'll be fine for a few moments," she argued, waving Cuddy off. "He was bleeding before the crash?"

"Coughing up blood," House corrected. "Did Rowan ever smoke? Is that what might have caused his lung cancer?"

Melinda shook her head. "No, he didn't. Not ever. His grandfather had died of lung cancer. There's apparently a genetic pre-disposition for it in males in the family. But Robert is so young…"

"It's rare, but not unheard of," Wilson added. "Rowan had a stage 4 Adenocarcinoma, but that is non-small cell, so if we caught it earlier in Chase..."

"We're jumping to the gravest conclusions," Cuddy said, the sole voice of reason in the room. "It could still be a number of other things. What concerns me most right now is the possibility of a severe brain injury from the crash…"

House's desk phone rang, interrupting Cuddy's words. House reached for it more quickly than usual, assuming it was Foreman or Masters calling to inform him about Chase's condition. The voice he heard on the other end was certainly not what he expected.

"House?" Allison Cameron asked, sounding as though she couldn't quite get a deep breath. He could just picture her pacing the hallway of whatever hospital she was working in, one hand resting on her hip and the other gripping the phone so tightly her knuckles were turning white. "Foreman just called me and left a message while I was with a patient, but when I called back he didn't pick up. What's happened to Chase?"

A/N: Sorry for the cliffhanger! Next chapter up shortly! And thank you to everyone who is reading or reviewing!


	4. As The Past Approaches

Ghost of the Past

Chapter 4: As the Past Approaches

House held the phone away from his ear slightly in surprise, cursing Foreman for not answering his cell phone and leaving him to deal with this mess. He knew that Cameron could not find it in her to stay away from this situation, but he'd rather hoped to avoid confronting her until her inevitable arrival; their last meeting had been awkward, tense, and not something he cared to repeat. He also knew from hospital gossip and Chase's evading that she had returned to the hospital during the lockdown almost a year ago, but he hadn't been able to get the details out of his secretive employee.

"What's happened?" Cameron insisted, voice rising an octave in barely contained terror. At his continued silence, Wilson prodded him with a befuddled look and a shove in the shoulder "House, please." In her voice he recognized the sound of the lost girl she'd been when she first started the fellowship, and he softened slightly, remembering his encounter with her in the lab, when she'd revealed the story about her first husband.

Cuddy nodded, intimating that he should tell Cameron the whole truth. His former student would know well enough if he was lying, in any case.

"He got into a car crash," House began, debating whether he should tell her his suspicions about lung cancer and deciding against it; he didn't need her getting hysterical on the phone.

"Foreman said that on the message," Cameron snapped, impatient. "How is he? Is he okay? How did it happen?"

"If you'll stop jumping down my throat," House said, hand clenching the side of his desk.

Her silence served as her apology, and he continued, pointedly avoiding the gazes of the others in the room. He'd wanted a few minutes alone, but he wasn't likely to get them.

"He started coughing blood and got distracted, "House said. "And it was Manhattan traffic. He's got a concussion, a sprained wrist, a few broken ribs, and some erratic heart rhythms they're working on stabilizing, but it's probably from the stress of the crash. There's also the chance of a coma." He thought of adding 'in short, the idiot's gotten himself in some trouble' but thought better of it.

"A coma!" she exclaimed, not allowing him to go any further. "Coughing up blood? Has he been sick?" She stopped for a moment, and he could hear her resolve building with every second. "I'll be there as soon as I can."

Without another word she hung up the phone, and as he knew telling her not to come would be a futile argument that he didn't have the energy for, House hung up as well.

"I guess she's coming?" Wilson chimed in, looking nervous.

House didn't answer, but picked up the phone again and dialed Foreman's cell. He answered on the third ring.

"Hey. Can I call you back in a minute? I was just about to call Cameron back…"

"Don't bother," House cut in, a scathing quality in his tone. "She just called me because she couldn't get you, yet here you are answering the phone."

"I was making sure they got Chase in for the chest CT scan like _you_ requested," Foreman shot back, his voice rising to such an extent that Wilson, Cuddy, and Melinda could hear him, despite the fact that he wasn't on speaker. He huffed, trying to control his temper under the stress. "Is she coming?"

"What do you think?" House asked. "Our little girl may be all grown-up, but she can't help herself in this kind of situation. Say, do you know what happened the night of the lockdown?"

"I wouldn't tell you if I did," Foreman answered, unsurprised at House's deflection of the situation at hand. "In case you were wondering, they're running the CT now. Chase still hasn't regained consciousness."

"Come find me as soon as the scans are up," House said. "I don't want any radiologist touching them."

He hung up without ceremony and turned to Melinda.

"You should go back to your room and let the treatment work," he said gruffly, sitting down and picking up his giant red and grey ball. "We'll keep you posted on any developments."

Melinda nodded as Cuddy put a gentle arm around her shoulders, helping lead her back to her room, but not before casting a concerned glance back at her ornery boyfriend, knowing he wouldn't accept her attempts at comfort; she would have to wait for him to come to her, if that happened at all. It was a fact to anyone who knew House that he shut himself off or got angry during times of emotional duress. Cuddy and Melinda's exit left House and Wilson alone, a significant sheath of silence falling between them.

"Are you…okay?" Wilson asked, scratching the back of his head uneasily.

"I'm fine," House said quickly, decisively. It sounded rather as if he was trying to convince himself rather than his inquisitive best friend. "Don't you have cancer kids calling, or something?"

"People get in car crashes all the time and recover," Wilson countered, ignoring the question. "And he's so young for lung cancer…"

House slammed his hand on his desk, startling the oncologist.

"The world isn't as beautiful as you try to make it," House said, and although his voice wasn't raised, it contained a very harsh quality that signaled his frustration at the situation. "I would think I wouldn't have to tell you that. You've seen enough of the ugly, haven't you?"

"I'm just trying to be here for you," Wilson said, putting his hand on the door, realizing that his best friend was too cantankerous for company. "Let me know when you get the CT results," he continued, a sheen of worry covering his dark brown eyes. "I'll check in with Foreman to see how things are going."

House nodded his assent, his eyes following Wilson down the hallway until he was out of sight, before throwing the weathered grey and red ball against the wall with such force that it bounced back against the other wall before falling to the floor.

Foreman entered the office an hour later, finding that House hadn't left his chair. His reading glasses were perched on his nose, his eyes focused intently on the computer screen. He looked up at his long-time employee after a few moments, leaning back in his chair.

"Porn to take your mind off things?" Foreman quipped sarcastically.

"No," House answered, peering at Foreman over the tops of his glasses. "So what's new?"

"If you'd just come down yourself…"

"Why would I do that when I know you'd be coming right here?" House asked. "It's not as if Chase is awake, and I'm betting he's not nearly as fun unconscious as coma guy, for instance."

"Actually, he's responding to the stimuli now, but it's still difficult to tell whether or not he's out because of pain killers or because of the brain injury," Foreman said, deciding to sit down in the chair across from his boss. "But neurological function is improved, although the concussion is still a Grade III, and they're monitoring closely for any brain swelling. Heart rate's still a little high…"

"Yeah yeah yeah, what about the CT scan?" House asked, voice rising slightly in irritation. "You're avoiding."

Foreman sighed, handing over the envelope containing the scan, distinct shadows entering his eyes. House held the scan up to the light, frowning.

"The CT found a mass, but it isn't entirely conclusive," Foreman said, quieter now. "The ICU wanted to give him more time to stabilize from the accident before putting him under, so we'll get a pleural biopsy in the morning. But it looks…"

"Like cancer?" House cut him off. "Yeah, I can see that. We won't know the scope until the biopsy."

"There isn't any need for you to snap at me," Foreman shot back, hands gripping the arms of the chair. "I'm worried too. Cameron couldn't get a flight out until the morning, but she'll be here early."

"I'm shocked she's coming so soon," House replied, sarcasm dripping from his every word.

"If it really is cancer," Foreman said. "She should be here. She still cares about Chase."

"I get that she cares," House said. "Doesn't mean they should be in the same room together. You know something, don't you? About what happened the night the hospital locked down last year?"

"You're veering completely off topic," Foreman argued, growing more frustrated by the moment. "Cameron's coming and that's that. More to the point, you need to quit dodging the issue and go see Chase. This is serious." Foreman glared to emphasize his point, his mouth set in a firm line.

House glared right back, unaffected. "How about you stop lecturing me and go tell Wilson and Cuddy the CT results? And check in on Mrs. Chase."

Foreman rose without another word, the glass door clanging shut behind him, leaving disapproval in his wake.

A cloud of serenity fell over Princeton-Plainsboro at night, a stark contrast from the rapid, unpredictable pace of the daylight hours. Patients and their overnight visitors slept, an escape from the pain and the worry, while the night-shift nurses and on-call doctors quietly made their rounds. Occasionally the peace was broken by the shrill, unmistakable sound of a patient coding, but scarcely a sound was heard as House walked down the hallway, the nurses on the ICU wing glancing up at him, a curious sheen in their eyes, clearly wondering why House would be roaming the halls at 1 a.m. in the morning when he wasn't searching like mad for a patient cure. There were only a handful of private rooms in the ICU, but Cuddy had insisted that Chase be put in one, and no one stopped the ornery diagnostician as he slid the door open.

A slice of moonlight fell across Chase's pale face, casting an eerie glow throughout the room. Finding the chair he had intended to sit in occupied by a sleeping Masters, House jabbed the young med student with the end of his cane. She jolted awake, eyes popping open.

"Your guard duty shift is over, kid," House quipped, shooing her out of the chair. "Go to your own home and sleep."

"But," Masters protested, hands resting on her hips in a way that was very reminiscent of Cameron.

"But nothing," House said, settling down into the chair and propping his feet on the edge of the hospital bed. "Melinda won't need another round in the hyperbaric chamber until the morning, and I can take over guarding the Aussie."

She raised her eyebrows at him, a smirk sliding across her face.

"I can occasionally act like a human being," he snarked. "Much as that may surprise you. Out."

She obliged, shooting one last glance back at her fallen colleague and friend. As it was too late for any of his usual shows to air, House pulled out his reading glasses and one of the few medical journals he actually read. After a few minutes however, he found he couldn't focus, his gaze landing once again on his long-time fellow; he spied the stitches on the side of his head where it had smashed into the top of his car, a distinct purple bruise forming on his right cheek. His left wrist was splinted, a bandage wrapped around his chest to protect the three broken ribs. A small crucifix on a silver chain that House imagined had been hidden under Chase's shirt, tie, and lab coat was now glaringly obvious.

"You idiot," he muttered. "How could you have not noticed the symptoms?"

He knew the answer, his mind flashing back to his conversation with Thirteen several years previous about getting tested for Huntington's, in which he had told her that doctors often felt that they couldn't get sick, and in turn refused to admit anything could be wrong even if it clearly was. It was unfair, he supposed, to be angry at Chase for not recognizing early symptoms of a sinister disease that could come from almost out of nowhere, but he was oddly not much in the mood to be rational.

He thought of how their relationship had ebbed and flowed over the past almost 8 years, a relationship which had included two punches, a hiring, a firing, and a re-hiring. Chase's distraught expression upon finding out that House had known about Rowan's lung cancer planted itself in his mind, then morphed into Chase's determined, wide-eyed expression when he announced he was going to hug him the night he'd convinced them he was dying of brain cancer. He'd mocked his young mentee then for sounding like he might cry, but it had been clear to him from early on that the young man somehow looked at him as a twisted father substitute. He tossed the journal onto the bedside table, an odd memory sticking out in his mind…

_House walked toward the OR, eyes landing on the white board schedule listing the scheduled surgeries for the next few hours. Upon seeing that Chase should be scrubbing in, he pushed open the swinging doors and found his former fellow standing at the sink, surgical cap already on, washing from the elbows down, ever meticulous. _

_ "If you want me to do a surgery it'll have to wait," Chase said without turning around, recognizing the familiar gait behind him. "I've got an appendectomy in 10 minutes."_

_ "Don't need a surgery. Patient's got neuro-syphilis," House replied, leaning with his back against the counter._

_ "Then what's up?" Chase asked, shooting House a quizzical look. "I haven't really got…"_

_ "You bowl?" House interrupted._

_ "Yes," Chase said, extending the pronunciation of the word in confusion. "Why?" Suspicion laced itself into his words, because there was never any telling what evil scheme House could be cooking up._

_ "I need a bowling partner tonight," House answered, eyes flitting up to Chase's face and then back down to the hand resting on his cane. _

_ "Oh!" Chase exclaimed softly, raising his eyebrows as he turned off the water and dried his hands and arms. "You want me to go bowling with you?"_

_ "You have plans with Cameron, I take it?" House questioned, a grudge in his voice that Chase suspected had everything to do with Wilson spending so much of his time with Amber. "Never…"_

_ "I don't have plans with Cameron," Chase replied quickly. "She's having a girls night or something with a couple of her friends from the ER."_

_ "Good then," House said. "Meet me at 7 at the bowling alley down the way on fourth."_

_ "Sure," Chase said, sounding half unsure, but half pleased._

House was sent out of his reverie by the sound of a raspy voice saying his name.

"House?" Chased asked, eyes fluttering open, a hand reaching for his head.

A/N: I'm so sorry for the delay in updating…life got the better of me. Anyhow, I do hope you enjoyed this chapter, and thank you so much to everyone who is reading, reviewing, or both!


	5. Visitors

Ghosts of the Past

Chapter 5: Visitors

Chase groaned, trying to sit up in bed, his palm resting gingerly on the side of his head. Before he could even sit all the way up however, House pushed him back down with the edge of his cane, carefully avoiding the area near the broken ribs.

"Not so fast," he barked. "Adjust to actually being conscious. Then you can work on sitting up. A few hours ago they were worried about a coma, so cool it."

"This coming from the man who rushed off looking for symptoms in an unknown person after getting into a massive bus crash that resulted in partial memory loss…Fuck," Chase muttered closing his eyes against the sudden rush of pain consciousness had brought forth. "What…what's the prognosis?"

"You cracked your skull pretty good, and you've got a grade III concussion, so they're monitoring for any brain swelling," House said ignoring Chase's first comment and removing his feet from the bed. "You've got a sprained wrist, three broken ribs, and some erratic heart rhythms. And a nasty bruise to mar your pretty face," he added sarcastically. "And don't be surprised if you have some short term memory gaps."

Chase settled back onto the pillows, wincing. He watched as House silently upped the morphine a bit, not protesting. The blood that Chase had coughed up was the elephant in the room, and neither of them was willing to bring it up just yet.

"How's Melinda?" Chase asked, finding himself focusing on the ceiling, unwilling to allow House to see the fear he knew was growing in his eyes. "It was carbon monoxide poisoning wasn't it?"

"Yeah," House replied. "We've had her in the hyperbaric chamber. Taub is handling it, and Foreman is checking in too. She should be fine in a couple of days."

"I was right," Chase said, still sounding hoarse.

House rolled his eyes in response, and Chase found himself wondering what had occurred during the hours he'd been unconscious, what the reactions of the others had been, feeling sorry for having worried them. The pit of anxiety grew larger in his stomach. It occurred to him that Cameron was still the emergency contact on his forms, and he wasn't sure if he wanted them calling her or not, but knew they probably already had; Cuddy would have been legally obligated to do so.

"Sorry for…"

"Because you can help it that you coughed up blood and got into a crash?" House asked, his tone ever caustic. "You and your Catholic guilt. "

Silence fell again, Chase looking for a way to screw up his courage; the sounds of the heart monitor suddenly unbearably loud.

"House?" he asked, voice barely above a whisper. "What…"

"Dr. Warren in the ER got you in for a CT scan," House replied gruffly before he could complete his question. "There's a mass in your lung, but they're doing a plural biopsy in the morning to see exactly what it is."

Chase's face fell, a sick, burning swoop of anxiety filling his abdomen. He tried to mask his feelings, but hardly had the energy from the combination of pain, exhaustion, and the morphine. He had the sensation of feeling outside himself.

"It looked like cancer, then?" he heard himself ask, grabbing a wad of blankets in his fist.

"Yes," House said, because he wouldn't sugarcoat news like this. "But we don't know the stage or severity yet, so don't freak out. It's annoying."

Before Chase had a chance to respond, the door slid open, revealing the face of Dr. Nicholas Simmons, the head of ICU. He looked a bit taken aback first at seeing Chase awake, then at seeing House. He nodded at House in recognition before addressing Chase.

"Oh good, you're awake Dr. Chase," he said, eyeing Chase's vitals and marking them down on the chart. "We were worried there for a while. I was on-call tonight, so I thought I'd check in."

He looked as if he might reprimand House for not paging the nurses desk when Chase had awoken, but thought better of it, clearly knowing that it wouldn't make a difference if he said anything. He had long lobbied for Chase to join his department since Intensivists were hard to come by, and had been disgruntled to find out Chase had left surgery to once again join Diagnostics. There were rumors however, that Dr. Simmons was going to transfer to a hospital somewhere in New York City.

"Thanks for stopping by," Chase said, trying to smile in appreciation even though his heart was still racing from the news about the CT scan.

"Heart rate and BP are still a little high," he remarked, brushing a stray, silvery-gray hair from his eyes. "We'll keep a watch on that. You might have to stay in the ICU for another day or so. Then we'll see about a regular room. We've got you scheduled for that biopsy at 9 in the morning." He looked up at House. "I can make sure a nurse wakes him up every two hours unless…"

"I'll page Dr. Foreman," House answered. "I don't trust nurses."

Despite the fact that House wasn't the attending as long as Chase was in the ICU, Simmons didn't argue. He knew House would likely put Dr. Wilson on the case if the biopsy did indeed reveal cancer.

"Alright," Simmons replied. "But I'll be back in a few hours. Page me if you need anything."

"I will," Chase answered, reaching out to shake his hand, noticing there was a slight tremor in his own fingers. "Thanks."

He watched as House paged Foreman, who was no doubt somewhere still in the hospital.

"Cameron's coming isn't she?" Chase asked, meeting House's eyes again. He had to know, couldn't take the surprise.

"Yeah," House answered. "She was still on your emergency contact forms. Idiot."

Chase smiled a little at the insult, which these days was almost like a term of endearment. His heart pounded a little harder at the thought of Cameron, having no idea how he would react to seeing her, especially under these circumstances. Half of him desperately craved her comfort…the other half didn't want to deal with the pain of seeing her only to lose her again.

"You talked to her then?" Chase asked, his lids growing heavy from the effects of the morphine.

"Had to," House muttered. "Foreman was too busy checking up on your ass to answer his phone. So, care to tell me what happened the night of the lockdown? Because you don't looked freaked out enough about her coming."

"I don't really care to tell you, no," Chase replied, knowing it would drive House crazy. "We got some closure, is all."

"I think I know what that means," House said rolling his eyes. "You are a glutton for punishment."

"Maybe…" Chase trailed off, head turning on his pillow as the door slid open once more to reveal Foreman's haggard face.

"I got your page," Foreman said to House, then turned to Chase, a shadow of worry mixed with a bit of relief washing over his face. "Hey, glad you're awake. Way to scare the hell out of us man."

"Yeah, sorry about that," Chase said, eyes fluttering closed. "Looks like we'll have to hold off on those drinks we were going out for tonight," he joked.

"You're on waking up every two hours duty," House said. "Page me if anything happens."

"I will," Foreman said.

The last thing Chase heard before succumbing to a drug-induced sleep was the door sliding closed and Foreman settling into the chair next to the bed, the pages of a magazine rustling in his hands.

The next time Chase awoke, sunlight filtered in through the blinds, casting an orange glow through the room, signaling that it was just past sunrise. Foreman was no longer there, but instead there was another visitor.

"Melinda," Chase uttered, voice saturated with sleep. "You should be resting. Don't you have another round in the hyperbaric chamber soon?"

"Dr. Foreman's gone to check on things for the biopsy," she told him. "And my next treatment is at 9," she said. "It's only 6:30 now. I'll be fine for a while. You cracked your head pretty hard there," she said, hand brushing the wisps of blonde hair around the stitches. "Doesn't look like there's any sign of brain swelling yet though."

"Luckily," Chase said, sitting up a little, wincing at the pain in his broken ribs. "I think I'll have enough to be going with without that."

"Don't jump to conclusions," Melinda said, suddenly avoiding eye contact. "You don't know if it's cancer. There are several other things it could be."

"Genetics aren't in my favor," Chase said, reaching with his good hand for the water pitcher, thankful that he'd sprained his left wrist and not his right. "The universe is laughing at me." He heard the bitterness flood his tone.

Melinda shifted nervously in her chair as though she wanted to tell Chase something, something she couldn't quite force past her lips.

"The universe isn't laughing at you," she whispered.

"God then," Chase said, taking several long gulps of water, having not realized just how thirsty he was. "I've worried about this ever since…" he stopped, knowing he didn't need to finish his sentence. "I've studied under one of the most renowned diagnosticians in he world," he continued. "I should have realized he was sick. Realized I was sick."

"You weren't looking for it," Melinda said, and Chase nearly jumped at feeling her hand covering his own. "You know as well as I do that some illnesses are asymptomatic for a long while."

"He should have told me he was dying," Chase said, seemingly unable to control the words spilling from his mouth. "He's cursing me from beyond the grave for not realizing."

This was a topic Chase scarcely mentioned aloud, save for one long ago conversation with House shortly after it happened and then a few with Cameron over the years, safe within the confines of a darkened bedroom…but whatever he might have tried to tell himself, his father's death still plagued him. If there was anything a child deserved, it was the right to know that his parent was dying.

"He wouldn't do that," Melinda whispered. "He loved you, truly he did."

"Maybe," Chase said, his mind getting lost in a memory.

_It was a sunny day in Melbourne, which didn't seem appropriate weather for a funeral, Chase mused. He'd taken a part of his saved up vacation, telling no one from Princeton where he was going, finding that he just wasn't ready to tell them yet, not ready to receive their condolences for a father he hadn't even known he was dying; he hadn't told anyone at the hospital, hadn't told any of his friends outside the hospital. He stood on the steps of the Catholic Church of his childhood, ever impressed with how far the spires jutted up into the bright blue sky. His father being who he was, there were already a great number of mourners dressed in black flooding in through the oaken front doors. _

_ He saw Dr. Hartford, the Dean of Medicine at Melbourne General where his father had worked for years, approach._

_ "Robert Chase," he said, clasping Chase's hand with gusto. "It's been quite some time, hasn't it? We're so sorry to lose your father. I know it must be hard for you."_

_ Chase nodded, returning the handshake. "It's nice to see you again sir."_

_ "He worked almost until the end, your father, after he was diagnosed," Dr. Hartford said, solemn. "Dedicated."_

_ Chase felt as though his throat was sticking together. His father would have had to inform his boss of his diagnosis of course, but then again, most people would assume that a person would inform their own child, whatever distance between them, before they would tell their colleague. But it only made sense he supposed…Rowan had always put his work before his family, in all matters._

_ "That was him," Chase answered. _

_ "So I hear you're working for the infamous Dr. House now," Dr. Hartford said. "I'm sure you'll follow in your father's footsteps and do great things."_

_ "Thank you Dr. Hartford," Chase said, wishing he could give more prolonged answers but finding he was unable. He met Melinda's eye from across the church courtyard. He was staying with her on this succinct visit only because she'd specifically requested it. He would have much rather have stayed with his best friend Andrew, who he'd known since he was eight years old. He would have rather stayed away from a house full of Rowan's belongings, a house full of thoughts of a man who had left him far before he ever physically died. He'd never quite understood Melinda's relationship with his father; they'd married while Chase was in University, two years after Isabelle had died. And while Rowan and Isabelle's marriage had been hot and cold for as long as he could remember, his father and Melinda had seemed like amiable companions more than anything else. _

_ Chase found himself on the receiving end of what seemed a thousand handshakes and condolences over the next half an hour, but when the final stream of people entered the church, ready for the service to begin, Chase felt a warm hand clap him on the shoulder._

_ "Ready mate?" Andrew asked, his normally unkempt wavy brown hair slicked back to observe the reverence of the day._

_ "He didn't tell me he was dying, Andrew," Chase whispered, feeling the first stirrings of tears behind his eyes. "How could he not tell me?"_

_ "I don't know Rob," Andrew said, sympathy coursing through his tone. "He always emotionally stunted, but this…"_

_ "Seems beyond reason?" Chase finished for him._

_ "Yeah," Andrew said quietly. _

_ Chase breathed in deeply, the memory of Rowan's handshake-turned-embrace before he'd left for the airport imprinted on his mind. His final goodbye, even though Chase hadn't a clue that's what it was. _

_ "Let's do this," he breathed, his legs carrying him on autopilot and into the church._

"He did love you," Melinda said again, breaking Chase's reverie. "I know he wasn't the best father, I won't argue that point. But he did love you. He said so. He came here specifically to say goodbye to you."

"I know," Chase said, although he heard his voice rising. "But I didn't know that's what it was. I would've come to visit, I would've…" He found that his voice failed him for a moment.

Melinda opened her mouth to reply, but whatever she would have said was cut off by the door opening, revealing Dr. Simmons and an ICU nurse named Linda, who Chase had met a few times as patients came in and out of this wing.

"It's just about time to get you prepped for that biopsy," Simmons said with a tired smile. "It's a little earlier than scheduled, but there was an opening and Dr. Cuddy insisted we get you in as soon as possible. We'll keep monitoring that head wound, but you should be okay to go under anesthesia."

Chase nodded, turning to Melinda before they started rolling him away, feeling sufficiently odd at being the patient in his own hospital.

"Good luck dear," Melinda said, running a finger lightly down his cheek. "I'll check in later. My prayers are with you."

"Thanks," Chase said. "Get better yourself." He watched her walk out, nodding at Dr. Simmons and Linda as she went.

"Who's doing the biopsy?" Chase asked Dr. Simmons as they exited his room.

"Dr. Wilson volunteered," Simmons said. "If your case is sent to Oncology, he wanted to take it on himself. And so did Dr. House."

Chase nodded, trying to keep up as he listened to Linda chatter on as they rolled down the hallway; he hated feeling the eyes of his colleagues on him, the doctor having become the patient. He saw Masters waiting anxiously by the doors to the OR, no doubt to wish him well, and despite the pain he couldn't help but smile a little. She'd grown on him. Just as they were about to reach the OR however, he heard four hurried sets of footsteps in the distance, one especially distinct by the thump of a cane, and a familiar voice piercing the air.

"Robert!" Cameron exclaimed, and Chase inclined his head a bit to see her rushing toward him, Foreman, Cuddy, and House following close behind.

A/N: Hope this isn't too weird of a place to end it, and sorry again for the sort of cliffhanger. I hope you enjoyed this chapter! And thank you to everyone who is reading or reviewing, it is much appreciated!


	6. Facing the Familiar

Ghosts of the Past

Chapter 6: Facing the Familiar

Chase couldn't say he was surprised, but Cuddy won the race to him first, massive heels and all, stepping in front of the gurney and looking apologetically at Dr. Simmons. Chase only found himself wondering where Wilson was, but decided he had probably wanted to stay out of the fray.

"Chase is about to go in for a procedure," Cuddy said, glaring at the three employees in front of her. "No need to run after him down the hallway."

Cameron stepped closer and Chase felt something akin to an electric jolt strike his body, remembering how warm her lips had felt on his when they'd kissed during the lockdown, how her body still melded perfectly with his own, how, when they'd danced, she'd leaned into him as close as a person could get, as if clinging on for dear life. And yet still she'd said she was too damaged to make it work. He wasn't sure if he was angry, hurt, happy, or relieved at her presence. It was likely a mixture of all three.

"I just wanted to speak to him for a moment Cuddy," she said, and Chase noted that she wore no makeup, and her hair was tossed up in a messy ponytail, a far cry from the Allison he was used to.

"Because everything has to be about you," House sniped, biting irritation clear in his tone.

"House," Foreman objected quietly, deep brown eyes flickering over to his two friends and colleagues.

Cuddy looked Cameron up and down and then stepped aside, allowing Cameron to stand beside Chase's gurney.

"We really only have a minute," Dr. Simmons said, looking testily at the group in front of him, no doubt thinking that House's department was always up to something.

House turned to Foreman, his expression unreadable, and muttered something along the lines of "Let me know when he's out. No dawdling" and stalked off down the hall. Chase watched him go, catching his eyes for only half a second. He turned to Cameron, who laid a hesitant hand lightly on his own.

"I'm so sorry you were hurt," she said, barely keeping the tears out of her voice. "Please…"

"It's just a biopsy Allison," Chase responded, keeping his voice gentle but even, still guarded. "No danger. We just have to take this one step at a time."

"We really should get inside," Simmons piped up. "The sooner we get this done, the sooner we'll know the prognosis."

Cameron nodded in compliance. She looked like she wanted to kiss him on the cheek but thought better of it, instead settling for squeezing his hand. As she stepped back from the gurney Chase's eyes flitted to Foreman, who looked lost, and then to Cuddy, who simply looked exhausted.

"Good luck," he heard Masters whisper from her formerly silent post by the ER door, where she had been observing the scene.

He smiled at her before briefly meeting Cameron's gaze again, seeing an intensity flickering within the leaf-green orbs that he couldn't quite place. Their faces faded from sight as they rolled him inside the ER, the ER that had once been his domain.

He found he didn't like the role-reversal.

He felt the panic flow through his veins again. This wasn't happening. It couldn't be happening. This was the universe or God or some kind of divine providence slapping him in the face, he was sure of it.

Calm down, he told himself. You don't even know how bad it is. Or what it is.

_You do_, whispered a vicious voice in his head, which still fucking _hurt _from the car crash and the concussion. His wrist ached his ribs ached, his whole body ached. He saw Wilson hovering in his peripheral.

"Hey there," Wilson said, sitting on the stool next to him. "How you feeling?"

"I've been better," Chase admitted, but still managed a small smile at House's comrade in arms, a colleague he considered a friend. Because no matter what he always had to smile. No need to remove the mask, even in dire circumstances. "Thanks for doing this."

"No problem," Wilson said, eyes pools of sympathy. "We thought it better to keep this within the circle, so to speak. Less people pestering you."

Chase nodded in thanks, and after a few more minutes of explaining things he already knew, the anesthesiologist administered the local anesthetic, and Chase tried to relax and remain absolutely still, trying not cringe when he felt the initial pinch of the needle. That was the trouble with a pleural biopsy; he couldn't just be put under and forget what was happening.

**House MD House MD House MD House MD**

Allison Cameron felt like an intruder.

She sat in the hospital cafeteria she'd once frequented back when things were simpler, or as simple as they'd ever been for her. She looked across the booth at no one, remembering all the times she'd shared a quick lunch with Chase when they'd been together, both dressed in their respective green and pink scrubs, as well as the earlier days when she, Chase, and Foreman would sit here late into the night, trying to find a last minute miracle for their latest diagnostics patient. Those days felt so far away, and she was an outsider. She didn't know exactly how she felt about anything, or anyone; she'd only known she needed to be here, whatever had happened between her and Chase. She supposed it was easier between them than it would have been had the incidents during the lockdown never occurred. She loved him, she thought, but didn't know if she could do anything about it. House's reaction was had what she thought it would be, but his fervent anger still took her mildly by surprise…she supposed it was him being upset over Chase being ill. That was how he'd always dealt with being upset, it seemed, he covered it with anger and she was an easy target. She heard a familiar, precise gait approaching, and watched silently as Foreman slid into the seat across from her.

"Where've you been?" she asked curiously. "You said you'd meet me 20 minutes ago."

"Just checking on the patient. She should be ready to be released in a couple of days," he said, stirring once container of cream into the bad coffee for something to do with his hands.

"What was wrong?" Cameron asked, because it seemed like the right thing to say.

"Carbon Monoxide poisoning," Foreman said, looking up at her finally. "It's Chase's stepmother."

"What? Melinda?" Cameron questioned, her mouth forming a small "O" of surprise. "What… how?"

"She was here for a conference and the hotel had a leak," Foreman supplied. "And she requested to be transferred here. She's due to be released day after tomorrow, but she told me she's taking some leave to stay here for Chase. Seems like she's trying to make amends for something." There was a question within the statement.

"Chase always wondered whether she knew if his father hadn't told him about the…" she stumbled over her words. "The lung cancer."

The words hung between them, dread seeping into the atmosphere.

"But that's really the only thing I can think of," she finished. "They were always pretty friendly for a stepmother/stepson."

"You should go talk to House," Foreman said without ceremony, taking a long swig of his coffee.

"Why?" Cameron asked, raising her eyebrows. "I'm not here to try to make up with House. I'm here because I'm worried about Robert."

"That may be," Foreman began. "But if you're going to be here for a while, I really don't want to listen to you two sniping at each other the entire time. And he's been like a guard dog about Chase ever since the accident. Can't hurt."

Cameron didn't answer, mostly unfazed by his brazen answer. She met his eyes briefly, and he softened a bit.

"I'm not trying to be harsh," he said. "I think you have a right to be here. But at least being civil with House will make things a little easier. Do you have somewhere to stay?"

"I got a hotel a few blocks away," she said, smiling just a smidge at her old friend. She rose, deciding to follow his advice. "I'll go talk to House now, I suppose. You'll let me know when Chase is out?"

He nodded. "It should be about another half hour."

With that, Cameron made her way along the familiar path to the Diagnostics office on autopilot. Upon arrival she spotted Taub and the new med student she learned was temporarily replacing Thirteen sitting in the conference room, looking as if they were speaking in hushed tones. Masters's eyes moved to Cameron as she pulled open the door. House wasn't in his office, so she had no choice but to sit and wait for him before she changed her mind.

"Hey Cameron," Taub said. "Take a seat," he said gesturing to the seat across from him, looking sympathetic but still a tad confused at her presence. "Allison Cameron, this is Martha Masters."

"Nice to meet you," Masters responded, reaching out to shake Cameron's hand.

"You too," Cameron replied, returning the shake firmly. "Is House coming back anytime soon?" she asked.

"He went to pester Cuddy about getting the biopsy results rushed about twenty-minutes ago," Taub said. "So he should be back soon. You doing okay?"

"I'm just worried," Cameron said, keeping her replies short, careful to not reveal too much. "I don't want it to be cancer."

"It could be something else," Masters said, an optimistic gleam in her eyes. "But even if it is, it might not be very advanced."

"That's true," Taub acquiesced. "But genetics play a role in this situation."

"What do you mean?" Masters asked.

"Chase's father had lung cancer," Cameron said, answering first because for some reason she didn't want Taub to do so. She gave him a look that told him she didn't appreciate his negativity.

"Oh," Masters replied, still considering Cameron, a thousand questions leaping across her eyes. Before she had a chance to ask any however, House entered the conference room, and knowing that talking with her was inevitable, gestured with his head for her to follow him into the his office. She did, and sat down on the edge of the chair on the other side. He seized the ever familiar red and gray ball, tossing it up and down as he contemplated her. Used to this, she didn't look away. She'd heard from Foreman that House was with Cuddy now, which didn't surprise, but she found herself wondering how Cuddy dealt with his particular brand of infuriating intensity.

"Why are you here?" he asked, leaning back in his chair.

"You know why I'm here," she scoffed. "I'm worried about Chase. And I was still the emergency contact on his forms. I can tell you don't think I should be here."

"I never said that," House argued, calm.

"You didn't need to," she shot back. "I got it from the way you acted earlier."

"I don't care if you're here or not," he said. "But right now, this isn't about you trying to salvage some kind of romantic relationship with Chase. It's about him possibly having cancer. It isn't about you."

"Since when were you so focused on other people's needs?" she asked, feeling the harshness in her voice. She knew it wasn't exactly true that he didn't care about other people; he just showed it in a very twisted way, and she wasn't in the mood. "I just want to be here for Chase."

"That's fine," he said. "Just don't let your own insecurities get in the way.

"I won't."

"Good."

They had been mentor and student once, but that all seemed very far away now.

"I know you came back the night of the lockdown," House suddenly said. "And you didn't even come say hello. That's not very courteous is it?" He was lightly mocking, but there was also the familiar tone of wanting to solve a particularly hard puzzle.

"Did Chase…"

"He didn't need too," House cut in. "I heard the gossip from the front desk nurses, and all I needed to do was to look at Chase's face when I mentioned it. Told me everything."

"If you think I'm going to tell you what happened…"

"I'll find out eventually. And I'm pretty sure I know what happened."

"You don't know everything House," she said, gripping the glass edge of the desk. "You may be brilliant, but you _can't_ know everything. Especially about mine and Chase's relationship."

"I know both of you better than you think," he said, but oddly his voice didn't contain the bitterness it had moments before. There was a melancholy there, a sound which Cameron had heard in his voice only a few times before.

She didn't have the time to answer however, because Foreman appeared at the door.

"They've just finished up the biopsy and Cuddy is getting the results rushed," he said, eyes moving between the two of them. "Chase is drowsy, but he's back in his room."

A/N: And odd place to end the chapter, I know, but there's too much going on next to put it in this installment. I hope you enjoyed this! And I really hope I got the House and Cameron scene right…I wasn't sure how it would go considering the awkwardness of the last time they saw each other. I also hope the C/C moment came across as genuine. Thanks to everyone who is reading or reviewing!


	7. The Past Creeps In Slowly

Ghosts of the Past

A/N: Hi all! I just wanted to say thank you to everyone who is reading, reviewing, or alerting/putting this story on favorites…it really keeps me writing! Sorry for the delay. With grad school, moving to a new place, and interning, things got a bit insane. Also, I just wanted to be clear; I'm not killing Chase, this is not a death-fic…mostly because I don't have the heart to actually kill any characters, I just tend to bring them rather close. Breathe easy.

Chapter 7: The Past Creeps in Slowly…

Cameron stood stock still outside Chase's room, the same position she'd been in for a good thirty minutes.

Foreman had wanted to give her a few minutes alone with Chase, as they hadn't had the time to talk before the biopsy, and House, upon hearing that Wilson hadn't looked pleased at the end of the biopsy, had shooed them out of his office with an order to keep him updated, then he'd stalked off to Cuddy's office. House didn't deal well with this type of situation; he'd shouted at everyone in the vicinity when Foreman had nearly died several years ago, but Cameron didn't know if she'd ever seen him this twisted up in knots. But then, Chase and House had always had an odd sort of kinship that Cameron had never fully understood; she only knew that although Chase wouldn't always own to it, he had a very strong affection for his boss.

"You can come in you know," Chase said gruffly from inside the darkened room. "No need to stand in the doorway."

Cameron looked up, startled, but entered.

"May I sit?" she asked, gesturing to the chair House had occupied the night before.

He nodded, but she noticed he wasn't really looking at her. His eyes were tinged with red, always a sign that he'd been crying, but she knew she wouldn't ask. When they'd been together she'd always been careful to wait a bit to see if he would mention if something was bothering him, and only pushed it if he didn't eventually bring it up; he'd spilled many a heartfelt secret to her. Now however, things were obviously very different.

"How are you feeling?" she asked, eyes running over the bandages peeking out from under his hospital gown, as well as the splint around his wrist and the bandage on his head where it had made contact with the roof of his now totaled car.

"Like hell," he said. "Stupid New York drivers…" His words were cut off by a raspy cough that shook his entire body. Upon seeing blood trickling out of the corner of his mouth, another coughing spell taking over seconds after the last one had stopped, Cameron leapt from her chair and grabbed tissues from the restroom, watching in horror as he coughed up more blood. As cliché as it sounded, everything moved in slow motion, and even though she knew it was more than a little premature, Cameron was struck with an insurmountable fear that Chase would die…it was a concept she couldn't handle.

"Should I call…"

Chase shook his head with vigor, the coughing finally dying off, breath rattling in his chest.

"There's nothing they can really do until they have the diagnosis," he protested. "I can still breathe, so I don't need to be intubated. And I'd really rather not having anyone poking at me right now. Thanks for the tissue."

"You're welcome," she answered, wishing she could wipe the terrified look off her face, but finding that it was frozen in place.

"Please don't look at me like that," he said, the smallest hint of a smile on his face. "I haven't accepted it fully yet, but I'm trying."

"Robert you don't know…"

"Allison," he said, frustration edging into his voice. "I know that's what it is. I've been feeling fatigued, I've had joint pain, a cough, but I didn't think anything of it until yesterday. It runs in my genes."

"But you're so young for it," Cameron argued, furrowing her eyebrows. "It could be something else. You're jumping to conclusions."

"You really don't have to be here," he said, finally really looking at her. His voice softened, losing a bit of the uncharacteristic harshness he'd injected into it, reminding her of the endlessly romantic man she'd so loved. "I know it must bring back terrible memories for you."

Cameron knew he was sincere with those words, but she also felt the first surge of irritation flood her veins; this was a typical Chase tactic, pushing her away because he was angry. It was so very like House. But she also saw the pain in his ever expressive eyes, which were always vulnerable to showcasing his emotion. They'd said their goodbyes during the lockdown, had parted amiably, but there had still been a desperation within both of them, as though neither truly wanted to walk away from the other. Perhaps he was more hurt than she'd bargained for. Perhaps she was more hurt that she was willing to admit, even to herself.

"You can't just push me away," she said, crossing her arms over her chest. "I came for a reason."

"Because you were on the emergency contact forms," he stated, fervently keeping the emotion out of his voice. "But don't feel obligated."

"I didn't come because I was on the emergency contact forms and you know it," she said, voice rising slightly.

"I appreciate you coming, but now that you see I'm fine, you don't have to stay," he said, stoic, although his hands were trembling.

"You are _not_ fine," she said, trying to keep her voice down. "You could have…"

"Lung Cancer?" he shot back. "Yeah, I know."

Before Cameron could respond there was a light knock on the glass, revealing Melinda, IV pole and all.

"Am I interrupting anything?" she asked, smiling at the pair of them before looking with worry at Chase's red-tinged lips.

"No," Chase said, trying to smile at her in return. "Come in."

"Hello Allison dear," Melinda said, taking a seat on the other side of Chase's bed, squeezing Cameron's shoulder on her way. "How are you?"

"I'm fine," Cameron answered. "But how are you? Foreman told me you had Carbon Monoxide Poisoning."

"I do," Melinda replied. "But they say I can be discharged in a couple of days." She looked over at her stepson intently. "But I plan on staying for a bit to make sure Robert here is alright."

"You really don't have to…"

"I do," Melinda interrupted. "There will be no arguing the point. Rowan would want me to look after you," she said, daring to bring up one of the elephants in the room. "And in any case, I want to stay."

Cameron watched as he slumped into his pillows and nodded his assent to Melinda, a whispered "thank you" on his lips, even as they formed a tight line; he was in pain, that much was clear, yet he refused to let them see. A simple memory flashed in her mind…

_Cameron jumped from her curled up position on the couch as she heard Chase turn his key in the lock, tossing her weathered copy of The Golden Bowl aside and leaping up. He entered, looking haggard, his hair tousled everywhere. They'd been planning on a Chinese/movie night at her place, but he'd been due four hours ago, had simply sent a text message saying, "surgery went long, be by asap."_

_ "Robert!" she exclaimed, but she wasn't reprimanding him. "What happened?"_

_ "Triple car crash on the interstate," he said, thumbs massaging the back of his neck as he put his set of keys down on the kitchen counter. They'd exchanged keys to each other's apartments when they'd hit the sixth month mark, which had been a month ago now. It had been a formality really, an official step forward, since they'd been spending nearly every night at each other's apartments for quite some time. "One of the injured was a 7-year-old girl with major internal bleeding."_

_ "Did she make it?" Cameron whispered, approaching him. But judging by the broken expression on his face, she already knew the answer._

_ "No," he said with a shake of his head. "Three hours in surgery and we lost her. Her parents were devastated. You'd think…" he trailed off, unable to finish his sentence._

_ "That we'd get used to it?" she asked, taking his hand and leading him to the couch, gently pushing him down into a sitting position. _

_ "Yeah," he said, glancing up at her, his left hand now rubbing his right. "But I never do. Especially not when it's a kid. She was so, so young. I tried everything…" his voice shook ever so slightly and he covered his face with his hands for a moment. _

_ "I'm so sorry babe," Cameron whispered softly. _

_ "Me too," he replied, looking up at her again. "I'm sorry I got here so late, I know we had plans…"_

_ "Come here," she said, cutting off his apology as she seized the bottle of lavender lotion she'd been using earlier off the coffee table. She leaned up against the back of the couch. "Take your shirt off."_

_ Chase raised his eyebrows at her, a mildly bewildered look on his countenance. "Are you trying to seduce me to make me feel better?" he asked. "Intriguing tactic."_

_ "No, silly," Cameron said. "Just come here and put your back to me. And take off that shirt!"_

_ "Allison, I'm fine, really, I just need some rest," he protested, shaking his head at her. "A shower maybe. Nothing to worry about."_

_ "You're not fine," she said, pulling his shirt off for him as he lifted his arms in defeat. She squirted the sweet-scented lotion known for its relaxing properties into her hand, starting to massage it into his neck and shoulders, feeling the tension receding as he relaxed his muscles._

_ "This is what I'm here for you know," she said, squeezing another dollop of lotion into her hands and beginning on the knot that had formed in the center of his neck from leaning over for such an extended period of time._

_ "To be my masseuse?" he joked._

_ "To be someone you can talk to when you have a hard day," she said seriously, almost with the tone of a professor giving a lecture. "You should know that by now."_

_ "I do know," he said, all traces of joking gone from his tone. "And I do trust you. I just have a hard time accepting being vulnerable sometimes. I'm not…used to someone trying to take care of me."_

_ "I know," she said, a trace of sadness in her tone, bitter at the mistakes Chase's parents had made. They had loved him in their own ways, but they hadn't done him justice in the slightest, and he'd had to grow up far faster than was fair. She gestured at him to turn around to face her. She slathered her own hands in lotion and then intertwined his fingers with her own, massaging deep into the skin of his sore hands._

_ It was quiet between them for a moment as Cameron worked, three words swirling around in her mind, three words she'd wanted to say for quite some time but hadn't been able to build up the courage to say. She breathed in, squeezing both his hands._

_ "Robert?" she asked, feeling her heart beating harder and harder against her chest. She was fearful, she realized, but now seemed like the right moment, even if they were just sitting on her couch at midnight, she in old PJ's and him in jeans and a scrub shirt._

_ He looked at her, and she could swear she saw the very same words written in his eyes._

_ "I love you," she breathed, squeezing his hands again._

_ His eyes widened but a smile overtook his tired features, the twinkle she so adored resting in his blue-green eyes. He kissed her, but softly, as though afraid she might suddenly disappear. Somehow, this kiss meant more to Cameron than all the heated, passionate kisses they'd so often shared._

_ "I love you too, Allison."_

_ The monumental moment hung between them, and she continued massaging his hands. Mixed with the joy of their exchange, however, apprehension was also in his expression._

_ "Don't you go doubting yourself," she said, intuitively knowing what his thought process was, difficult as it was to crack through sometimes. "You did everything you could to save that little girl."_

_ "I tried," he said, a solitary tear slipping from his eye that he couldn't swipe away because she had his hands. "I tried everything I could think of."_

_ Words weren't really needed, she realized, and instead she let go of his hands and pulled his head to her shoulder, wrapping her arms around him, knowing full well that this was the first time in years he'd let anyone do such a thing._

Raised voices down the hallway broke through Cameron's reverie. Chase sat up against his pillows at the sound of three pairs of footsteps but only two voices.

"I'm your best friend, so I should know first!"

"Well Chase is the patient, so ethically, he should know first," James Wilson argued, obviously exasperated by House's incessant nagging.

"Always following the rules," House mocked. "Even when it's important."

"It _is_ important," Wilson responded, their voices right outside the door now. "Which is why we're here. Now you can hear at the same time as Chase? Fair?"

The door slid open, revealing Wilson and House along with Foreman, whose expression was oddly drawn. Cameron noticed Chase's hand grip the bed sheets tightly, bracing himself. She felt her own heart start racing, a sick sense of malicious foreboding creeping into her soul.

"Hi everyone," Wilson said in his usual pleasant tone of voice, but Cameron noticed that his knuckles gripped the clipboard he held so tightly that his knuckles were white. He smiled weakly over in her direction, as he'd been busy preparing for the biopsy when she'd arrived. "We got the biopsy results back."

"Wilson," House interrupted, although his tone was oddly soft, only a trace of the usual mocking contained within. "Your usual routine won't exactly work on us…we know it too well."

Wilson ignored him, moving toward Chase's side of the bed, his deep brown eyes locked with Chase's blue-green orbs, which were as turbulent as the raging sea.

"It's lung cancer isn't it?" Chase whispered, as Cameron watched House's eyes dart impossibly fast between his best friend and the doctor who was a good as his protégé.

"It is," Wilson admitted, laying a very gentle hand on Chase's forearm, but it was almost as if Chase couldn't see him.

Cameron was certain her heart leapt out of her chest and ran out the door.

"But it isn't a lost cause," Wilson reassured Chase, still looking into his eyes. "It's a very, very early stage III non-small cell adenocarcinoma…"

"Stage _three_?" Chase said, his voice hardly audible now. "Stage…" he trailed off, breaking Wilson's gaze and looking to House as though pleading with him to say this was some kind of cruel joke, asking him to smack some sense into his best friend, to come up with a last minute diagnosis that had nothing whatsoever to do with cancer. House could barely meet his eye before looking down at the tiled floor. Melinda's eyes swam with sudden tears, and Cameron felt Foreman's hand resting lightly on her shoulder.

"From the look of it there's a good chance most of it can be removed with surgery," Wilson persisted. It hasn't spread beyond the one lung and the lymph nodes yet. And the fact that it's non-small cell is positive."

"Could I…" Chase stumbled over his words. "Could I lose one of my lungs?"

"It's possible," Wilson said, wincing slightly. "But we might try removing it partially with surgery and partially with chemo to prevent that. You've got a fighting chance, Chase. I wouldn't lie to you about that."

"What he's really trying to say," House said, incapable of stopping himself from injecting his particular brand of sarcastic humor into the situation; it was his ultimate defense mechanism. "Is that you're probably going to lose some of that pretty blonde hair, and that you'll be in a hell of a lot of pain, but you might just stay alive."

"House," Wilson reprimanded.

"But there's always a chance that the treatment…"

"There's always a chance that the treatment won't work," Wilson finished for him, hand squeezing his long-time colleague's arm. "But we can't look into time-spans or anything of that nature until we try. Your percentages are good…but it will be a hard road. We're all here for you."

Silence descended upon them, ringing through the room. Cameron looked up to Foreman, whose eyes had that wide, confused, saddened look she'd only witnessed a few times before, looking as though he was focusing on nothing. She looked to House, who was staring at Chase as though he was willing the Cancer away with the power of his genius. She looked to Melinda, who was focused on her lap, a marked sort of guilt written on her face, undoubtedly thinking about Rowan, and Cameron was sure then that she'd known Chase had been in the dark about his father's own lung cancer. She looked finally to Chase, who pressed his hands hard against his eyes, clearly trying to keep himself in check. She wished he would cry, she wished he would scream, she wished he would do _something_…but he remained silent. When he did speak up, it wasn't what she wanted to hear.

"Thank you Wilson," he said, eyes scanning the five of them. "Thanks for being here, all of you, but I'd really like to be left alone for a little while."

It was obvious none of them wanted to do any such thing, but they gave into his wish, and Cameron followed them out, fingers softly grazing his bruised cheek before exiting the room.

He didn't even register the contact.


	8. Honest Reflections

Ghosts of the Past

A/N: Hi readers! Thanks to everyone who is reading, reviewing, or adding this story to their alerts/favorites! It's wonderful to get feedback and I'm really glad people are enjoying the story. Also, how AWESOME was this week's episode of House? I thought Chase's return was truly fantastic, and just the whole episode in general top notch. Anyhow, I hope you enjoy this chapter and please let me know what you think!

Chapter 8: Honest Reflections

Chase knew he should be sobbing, shouting…something. But aside from the few tears that had slipped out initially, he found he felt numb and he could do was breathe in, breathe out.

Repeat.

He found himself unable to think of his father just now, simply because the wound of his deception, even of losing him, had merely scarred over and never healed. He thought of his mother, and one particular night when she wasn't falling over drunk, when she'd taken care of him while he was convalescing with the flu…

_16-year-old Robert felt a cough wrack his body, groaning in response. All the Robitussin in the world wasn't kicking this particular ailment. He'd caught the flu that had been going around his small Catholic school, and was heartily displeased that he'd missed two football matches already, as well as getting behind on his classes. There was a soft rap on the door as his mother entered, carrying apple juice, crackers, and some canned chicken noodle soup in a bowl. Oddly, she didn't carry her usual gin and tonic, which she normally would have had a few of by this time of night._

_ "Mum you didn't have to do all that," Robert said, sitting up and accepting the tray from her. "I could have gotten it."_

_ "Don't be silly," Isabelle said, brushing a stray blonde hair from his face. "You're ill. You've been ill for a week. It's the least I can do for my sweet boy…you take care of me all the time."_

_ He smelled a tinge of alcohol on her breath, but she seemed functional, chipper even, so it seemed she hadn't had as much as usual, and he breathed a sigh of relief. Perhaps it would be a peaceful evening free of worrying whether or not she would give herself alcohol poisoning, free of worrying she might get delusional and give one of her many raving phone calls to Rowan, free of the sound of glass shattering against the wall, free of cleaning up vomit. She was more the like woman she had been before the alcohol became her closest confidant in this simple moment, and Robert found it made him ache for missing her._

_ "I'm concerned you aren't getting better," she said, moving to adjust his pillows absentmindedly. "You've got antibiotics, everything and still…"_

_ "I'm sure I'll be fine Mum," Robert assured her. "It's just a nasty case of the flu."_

_ She squeezed his hand affectionately, long blonde hair grazing his blankets. _

_ "Your father thinks you might be getting pneumonia," she said, looking wary at an anticipated reaction._

_ Robert rolled his eyes and squeezed Isabelle's hand in return. "When did __**he**__ call? We haven't seen him for four months. He's called what, twice in that period?"_

_ "Now don't get upset love, he was just calling to check on the house, to make sure finances were alright, and to ask about you," she said. "That's all. You were asleep, so he wants you to call him back."_

_ "You can't always get what you want," Robert muttered, taking the first spoonful of his soup as a distraction._

_ "You should talk to him. Just because he left me…"_

_ "He left me too," Robert said firmly. "He left us both. Mother and son are sort of a package deal."_

_ "Well he said if you weren't better by tomorrow to bring you down to the hospital so he could check you over," she said, a slight pleading in her tone._

_ "Mum…"_

_ "For me please?" she asked, touching his face lightly with her finger. "I don't want you to have bronchitis or pneumonia and not know it."_

_ He sighed, giving into her. "Alright, Mum. For you."_

_ Less than 24 hours later, however, Robert heartily regretted his decision. He sat in an examination room with his father at Melbourne General, his mother sitting in the chair beside him._

_ "You really don't need to be in here Isabelle," Rowan said, taking out the thermometer. "Robert will be just fine if you go get some coffee."_

_ "I don't mind being in here," she replied, patting her son's arm. "I'm worried."_

_ "He's 16, not a toddler getting a shot," Rowan replied crisply, in that ever arrogant tone of voice that Robert so despised. "Go get something in the cafeteria; I'd like a moment alone with Robert. I'll have the nurse send for you when we're done."_

_ Isabelle acquiesced, pressing a kiss to the side of her son's head before exiting. The thermometer beeped just as the door closed behind her, and Rowan looked at it, furrowing his eyebrows._

_ "102," he said. "You've been running a fever?"_

_ "It's been hovering around 99 or so," Robert answered in a clipped tone. _

_ "No need for that tone," Rowan replied. "I'm just trying to ascertain what's going on."_

_ "I'll be fine," Robert said, feeling a distinct tickle in this throat. "I don't need you to check up on me."_

_ These words of course, reached far beyond this illness; Robert had firmly decided that he didn't need his father for anything, especially not after Rowan had been half-absent through most of his childhood, especially not after he'd left them…especially not after Robert had spent the first six months after his departure begging him to come back, to help him save Isabelle from drowning herself in a bottle, to perhaps come to a violin concert or a football match or a school awards ceremony, to no avail. He started coughing, a raspy, awful sound that reverberated through the room. His father handed him a tissue, and he spat into it, the mucus a nasty yellowish green with tiny flecks of blood._

_ "Hmm," Rowan began. "Don't need me to check up on you? It doesn't look that way, son. Are you in pain at all? Body aches perhaps worse than what the flu would give you?"_

_ Robert merely nodded, starting to feel colder, a sure sign his fever was rising._

_ "We'll need to test, but I do believe you have pneumonia," he said, pouring a small glass of water for his son. "I'd like to keep you here for a few days."_

_ "Dad…" It was the first time he'd actually uttered the word since he'd entered the hospital, and it did not go unnoticed by Rowan, who softened his demeanor ever so slightly. "I don't need…"_

_ "Yes you do," Rowan said, leaving no room for argument. "My guess is you started out with bronchitis, but it developed, your initial doctor is an imbecile. Let me just get the paperwork from admitting…"_

Chase was sent out of his reverie by the sound of an ever familiar, caustic voice.

"You're upset about losing that pretty hair of yours," House said, leaning on the door frame, the sheaves of light casting themselves across his silhouette. "I get it. But hey, if the surgery goes well you might only lose a little bit from the chemo. And anyway, it'll give me a chance to be the pretty one for a while."

"House I'm really not in the mood, okay?" Chase said, but his voice wasn't altogether hostile…just weary.

"Too bad," House said, sliding the door closed louder than was necessary. I'm not going to let you mope over this. You've got a good chance, and if you don't realize that and give up, you _will_ die."

"I've got a right to mope a little, don't you think?" Chase shot back, angry now. "I've got fucking _cancer_. Stage three cancer, the same type of cancer that my father died from."

"_Early_ stage three," House argued. "And it's non-small cell, which you know is more easily removed surgically than other types. And if they don't get it all chemo will take the rest. I'm not saying it won't royally suck, I'm just…"

"Trying to make yourself feel better?" Chase questioned, feeling frustration coursing through his veins like acid.

"You're being an idiot as usual," House snarked, but he didn't turn to leave. "Not a surprise, really."

"Why do you keep me on your staff if I'm such an idiot? Why did you have me do all your surgeries even when I wasn't on the team?" Chase said, would have shouted if his throat didn't hurt so much...if his entire body didn't hurt so much.

He'd had his fair share of heated exchanges with his boss; in the hospital hallway when he'd misdiagnosed Kayla after his father died and her previously unnoticed stomach ulcer had perforated, a few days later when he'd found out House had known about Rowan's lung cancer, the confrontation in the lobby shortly after Chase had returned to PPTH to work in surgery and House found out about his assistance to Amber…the two punches that took place three years apart. But never had it been quite so personal.

"I didn't say you weren't smart," House said. "I said you were an idiot."

"Because that makes sense," Chase replied, voice so harsh he hardly even recognized its sound. "Since when do you care so much anyway?" He knew this was a stupid thing to say; House might not say it, but Chase knew he cared about him in his own way, twisted as some of his actions to show it might have been.

House rolled his eyes in response, not giving the comment any attention. "You've got cancer, not a death sentence."

"You would say that," Chase said, unable to stop himself now, knowing full well he was taking his fears out on House. "You faked cancer to get high."

House remained silent, eyes fixed on Chase with an unreadable expression.

"You don't even know what that did to us, do you?" Chase continued, his tone biting now. "Sure, you came in and ate with us when you spotted us in the window of that restaurant, but you still couldn't know how it felt for us to think you were dying only to find out you were faking it…"

_Chase fiddled with the keys to his green jeep Cherokee hands trembling from shock. Cameron stood silently by the passenger door and Foreman by the back; Cameron was staring at the concrete while Foreman had a look of utter rage etched into his face. _

_ "Chase?" Cameron asked softly. "Are you going to unlock the door? It's a bit cold out here."_

_ "Yeah sorry," Chase mumbled. "Had trouble with the keys." He opened his own door and hit the unlock button, allowing his companions inside. He started the engine and flipped on the heat but didn't put the ignition into drive. The other two appeared content with this, and for a few moments none of them spoke, soaking in their utter disbelief. _

_ "I can't believe this," Cameron finally said. "I just…can't."_

_ "I can," Foreman replied, and Chase saw him shaking his head through the rearview mirror. "I just can't believe we fell for it."_

_ "Why wouldn't we?" Chase responded, hands gripping the steering wheel despite the fact that he wasn't actually driving. "We get the news that our boss has brain cancer with one year left to live and we ask him to prove it?"_

_ "We should have realized he was pulling a fast one," Foreman said. "If he had cancer he would have told Wilson, it would have slipped out somehow."_

_ "He keeps things to himself sometimes," Cameron pointed out. "Although something like that…"_

_ "We really don't need to debate why we didn't know he was tricking us," Chase cut in, finally backing up out of the parallel parking space outside 221b. "We were all upset about it." He saw Foreman start to open his mouth in protest, but interrupted before he could begin. "Don't pretend like you were just being a good Samaritan, you were up all through the night with Cameron and me looking up studies and making phone calls." At this Foreman's mouth closed again, and he remained silent._

_ "I need wine," Cameron said, twirling the ends of her dark hair anxiously. Chase found himself wanting to reach out and put his hands through it as he often did when kissing her, but that was obviously out of the question with Foreman in the car. Keeping their arrangement a secret was best. _

_ "Agreed," Chase said, flicking on his blinker to turn right toward a pub he sometimes went to with Foreman and Cameron._

_ "How exactly do we keep functioning normally after this?" she asked, voicing the question all three were thinking. "We thought he was going to die, and soon."_

_ Chase hadn't told either of them about the hug he'd given House yet, about how House had noticed his eyes glossing over with tears. Their actions had spoken for how much they cared about their boss, but none of them had mentioned their private moments with him. Chase had felt so intensely horrible about the thought of losing House, because as cantankerous and irritating as he often was, if you were around him long enough, you couldn't help but have a soft spot for the man. Chase looked up to him, respected him, and knew that there wasn't anyone in the world quite like Gregory House._

_ "I don't know," Chase said with a sigh. "I really just don't know…"_

"We're not really talking about me now are we?" House said, snapping Chase out of his thoughts. "You're a master deflector, I'll give you that."

"Did you have a point to make?" Chase asked, the unchecked fury receding now. The child in him wanted to tell House to fix him, dammit, that this couldn't possibly be the truth.

House leaned forward, gazing straight into Chase's eyes, his expression as serious as Chase had ever seen; he was resisting the urge to be sarcastic, the urge to mock, as were his usual methods of getting his points across.

"You think this is some kind of payback for you sins…"

"I don't…"

"Don't argue," House commanded, and Chase fell silent.

"You think this is God Almighty's punishment for anything bad you've done in your life, or anything bad you think you've done," House said, still not looking away. "You think it's comeuppance for not realizing your father was sick, for not being able to save your mother…for that unfortunate incident with the dictator."

Chase felt his blood run cold at the mention of Dibala; he'd done his very best to make peace with the act and its disastrous impact on his marriage. His words to Foreman about letting Dibala live negating all the lives they'd saved still rang true to him, but as he'd told Cameron that day in the lab: _"No normal person can kill someone and not have a breakdown. Even if it's justified."_

"You've got to stop blaming yourself for your parents," House continued. "It's ridiculous. Your mother sealed her own fate, and your father looked like the picture of health and it was his asinine decision not to tell you about his lung cancer. I'll admit that the… _incident_ was not the wisest choices you've ever made, but you did even that with the intent of doing something good."

"House…"

"You're sick because you're sick," House said, finally breaking the gaze. "And you need to show some emotion about it or I'm going to send you to the psych ward," he deadpanned.

This joking threat more than anything else, shook Chase sharply from his numb emotional state. A half laugh, half sob burst forth, and despite not wanting to lose it in front of House, he couldn't stop the sound. Before he even knew what was happening he was downright sobbing, although they were so quiet that they weren't audible to anyone but himself and House. He rested his head in his hands as House kept quiet out of some strange sort of respect. This went on for several minutes until Chase felt House squeeze his shoulder ever so gently that he might have imagined it. He looked up again to see House pointedly looking away, his eyes falling on Cameron and Melinda standing outside the door.

"Oh good, people better equipped to deal with emotional breakdowns than me are here," he said, rising from his chair. He looked at Chase once more before exiting. "And you're on some awesome drugs, so get some sleep. You look terrible."


	9. The Truth Revealed

Ghosts of the Past

A/N: Hi readers! I'm incredibly sorry for the long delay…the last few weeks of this semester nearly stole my soul away, but I suppose I should have expected that in grad school. I also made the grand mistake of working on three stories at once (although at least one only has a single chapter left to go!) so all of that, plus working, just made my time slip away. Anyhow, I now have three glorious weeks off from both work and school! In any case, I do hope you enjoy this!

Chapter 9: The Truth Revealed

Chase watched House exit with a nod to Cameron and Melinda before making his way back down the hall and out of sight. Chase gingerly sat up as the two women entered, noting that his body ached a little less, his concussed head and broken ribs feeling especially better.

Then he noticed that House had upped his morphine, which explained why his eyelids felt heavier than before. His emotions however, felt no less raw, and seeing both women enter looking resolved did little to ease his tumultuous temperament. A large part of him wanted very much to just be left alone…but it was also the last thing the other part of him wished for. House's words echoed in his ears.

_I'm not going to let you mope over this. You've got a good chance, and if you don't realize that and give up, you will die._

House was right, and Chase knew that, but he also knew that even if they got rid of this cancer, the percentages of men who contracted lung cancer living past five years wasn't especially high due to the reoccurrence of the disease, although said percentage varied greatly upon the type of cancer and the man's age. The statistics swirled around his head, making him dizzy.

"How are you feeling?" Cameron asked, sitting down gingerly in one of the chairs and breaking his thoughts. "I guess that's a stupid question…"

"I'm fine," Chase said, his walls going up because he was terrified at how vulnerable he felt, at the fact that he'd just sobbed in front of House, even though it had been House's objective to get him to let go in order that he might move forward.

He felt Cameron's eyes on him, fully aware of the fact that she didn't believe him. Who would? Melinda sat down in the chair opposite Cameron, mouth forming a tight line, legs crossed tightly together.

"What was House up to?" Cameron pressed, giving in to Chase's refusal to talk about what had happened, and allowing him to take the lead. It was a habit he knew she had reluctantly fallen into during the course of their years together; she had occasionally pushed him when she knew he was upset, but slowly came to realize that because he trusted her, he would eventually come clean. But Allison was Allison, and it was clear that she was bursting to find out what he was thinking.

"He gave me a House-style pep talk," Chase said, not yet willing to share the details. "Told me that if I didn't cry he'd send me to the psych ward." He felt the barest hint of a smile on his lips, and when he finally looked up at Cameron, he saw a similar expression.

"Typical," Cameron said, shaking her head. Chase noticed that she met Melinda's eyes for a moment, and he knew that they had come here for a purpose other than checking up on him.

"How are you feeling?" Chase prodded Melinda. "Better?"

"Much," Melinda said. "They're set to release me in the morning. But you don't need to worry about me…you're going through enough. You need to stay positive."

Chase nodded, feeling his hands start to shake as he asked the next question, even though small voices in his head were screaming in protest, screaming that some secrets were better left buried.

"Did you…did you come here to tell me something specific?" he asked.

Melinda pulled the chair closer to the bed, eyes downcast.

"I didn't know if this was the right time," she said, folding her hands like knots in her lap. "But I wanted to talk to you about your father. About why he didn't tell you about his lung cancer. I…I had planned to come and visit you while I was here, and then my sickness got in the way. In light of what's happened…"

Her words hit Chase like a train smashing into a vehicle on the railroad tracks, because he knew what she would say, he'd known all along really, but refusing to listen to her would leave him without answers about _why_ his father had chosen to keep his lung cancer from his own son. The cosmic irony of his own diagnosis grew more sickening in the pit of his stomach, and despite his awkwardness around Allison, a small part of him wanted her to embrace him as she once had, wanted her to crawl in bed next to him and wrap her arms around him in her sleep.

But he couldn't even look at her.

"You knew, didn't you?" Chase whispered, looking at Melinda instead, who finally returned his gaze. He felt his anger bubbling beneath his sking. "You knew he didn't tell me he was dying."

"Yes," Melinda said, a few tears spilling from her eyes. "I knew. And I know telling you how much I protested his decision would do little to ease the pain it caused you. But I didn't know how much to interfere, didn't know how you would take the news from me…"

"Tell me what happened," Chase demanded, his own calm unnerving him. "Because you're the only person who knows why."

He felt Cameron's hand come to rest lightly on his arm, and he didn't have the energy to pull away, found he didn't even want to, utterly focused on what his stepmother was about to tell him. He remembered when he'd finally disclosed the full story of his past to Allison within the safe confines of his bedroom, piecing together the rare bits he'd shared, or the bits to which she'd caught on.

Nothing felt safe anymore…he didn't even feel safe in his own body now that it was revolting against him.

"Alright," Melinda acquiesced softly, running a hand through her mane of brown hair. "You deserve the truth."

_Melinda pushed the door open slowly, spotting Rowan at the chestnut desk in his study, a glass of scotch in his hand. He'd returned from America just two days ago, and he'd been pensive and tense ever since. She knew he'd been to see Robert, but she hadn't yet bolstered the courage to ask whether he'd changed his mind about informing his son of the lung cancer that would kill him in a matter of less than three months. She stepped in and he didn't even appear to notice, his eyes roving over a notebook of some kind. _

"_Rowan?" she asked, shutting the door behind her so that none of the house staff would hear their conversation. _

"_Oh," he said, looking up at her with a surprised expression. "Hello dear. I didn't see you come in."_

"_I thought not," Melinda answered, sitting down in the chair opposite his desk. "I wanted to talk to you about something, if you're up for it."_

_Rowan cocked up one eyebrow in interest, and Melinda noticed the prominent bags under his eyes, his skin more lined than ever. It hit her fully, in that moment, that he really was dying, and she felt as if a cinder block was sitting on her chest. She mentally squared her shoulders._

"_What do you want to talk about?" he asked. "Is everything alright?"_

"_Yes, everything's fine," she said, hesitant. "You haven't really told me much about your trip…or your visit to Robert."_

"_Well you know about my visit to Sloan-Kettering, and Dr. Wilson," Rowan began. "And Robert is fine, doing well, although Dr. House appears to be as unpredictable and reckless as everyone claims. Don't get me wrong, he's brilliant, just completely insane."_

_Melinda, nodded gathering her patience. She knew he was avoiding the embedded question she had asked._

"_But you kept with your decision to keep your cancer from Robert, then?" Melinda asked. She loved her husband, and she knew his son was a sensitive subject, but she'd also known Robert since he was a little boy, far before she'd ever begun seeing Rowan, and she felt a son had a right to know his father was dying. _

"_Yes," Rowan answered in a clipped tone, gray eyes containing a defensive glint. "I told you I wasn't going to tell him. I have my reasons."_

"_And you never exactly explained them to me, did you?" Melinda asked, holding her ground. "He's your son, Rowan. He deserves to know."_

"_It has nothing to do with what he deserves, Melinda," Rowan answered. "I recognize that he deserves to know. I love my son, but telling him would only be detrimental to his future."_

_Melinda gaped slightly, trying to process his words. Upon seeing her bewildered expression, Rowan continued._

"_Robert has a hero complex," he said simply, as if that were the end of the matter. "He always befriended the odd children at school because no one else would, he constantly brought home stray animals, he tried for years to save Isabelle from her alcoholism…" he trailed off, and Melinda was perhaps as shocked as he was that he had just mentioned his deceased ex-wife, something he rarely did. "I told him several times that I would send him to boarding school in Sydney, but he refused because he thought he could save his mother," Rowan continued, a twinge of melancholy in his tone. "Then he tried to be a priest to save people's immortal souls. He became an Intensitvist to save critical patients…the list goes on."_

"_And you're saying these things are bad?" Melinda questioned. "That you don't appreciate your own son's kind nature."_

"_I'm not saying his actions aren't noble, but he goes completely overboard," Rowan said. "If I told him about my cancer he would try to save me. Despite our obviously rocky relationship, I know that about him. He would want me to try some last minute cure, and it would distract him from his responsibilities, from his job. He doesn't need that; he can't prevent me from dying, so I'm saving him the grief."_

"_You owe him," Melinda dared to say. "You owe it to him to tell him."_

"_I'm doing this for his own well-being," Rowan protested, still calm. "He's made a life for himself and this doesn't need this to get in his way."_

"_Your death itself is going to derail him, and not telling him is only going to make it worse," Melinda said, but she knew now that the argument was futile. "And I think you're making a huge mistake. But it's not my place to go against you and tell him myself, as much as I'd like to. You may have fought, and you may have fallen away from each other, but you're his father, and losing your father is no small matter."_

"_I know," Rowan said, his voice growing a smidge gentler, but his tone gave the indication that he no longer wanted to discuss his decision. "And I recognize that this will hurt him, but he has proved that he's strong. He'll make it through, and it's best in the long run for him."_

_Melinda shook her head and rose from the chair, thinking that her brilliant husband and his calculating decision, no matter how well thought out he believed it to be, would shock the living hell out of his son. She rested a fleeting hand on his shoulder, bidding him to come to the dinner table in half an hour. He nodded in response and patted her hand, the expression in his eyes growing lost once more as she left him to his thoughts._

Chase hardly had words.

He knew he was still staring at his stepmother, but even as he tore his eyes away he wanted to look back up. His father thought he had a hero complex, so he chose to keep his cancer a secret? As if he thought him incapable of handling the news?

"He thought he was doing you a favor," Melinda said, eyes moving from Chase's stony face to Cameron's open-mouthed one. "It wasn't the correct way to handle it, certainly, but I just wanted you to know he wasn't doing it out of spite. Are you…are you alright?"

"Am I alright?" Chase questioned, an inappropriate chuckle escaping from his lips. "Oh sure, I'm just dandy." Sarcasm gripped his every word.

"Robert," Cameron tried to say, attempting to place a hand on his.

He pulled his hand away, closing his eyes briefly.

"I know he was wrong, but he truly did love you," Melinda said, a note of apology in every word.

"Yes, well," Chase said, feeling his voice starting to shake, uncontrollable, pent up emotion dying to burst forth. "That doesn't really make up for him not telling me he was dying. I ended up killing a patient, I was so shocked at that news! I might have suggested a few other doctors for him to see, but I'm not a fool. I know that terminal cancer is terminal cancer, and that if it was that far along it likely couldn't be cured. I would have been upset, but if we had just gotten to talk about it." The frustration, the sadness burned his throat, making him feel like he might vomit. "Hero complex…he was always going on about that supposed condition. And even if he wouldn't tell me, you…you should have, damn his arguments."

He fell silent, and after a solid minute of this, Melinda rose up.

"I'll let you alone for a bit," she said, knowing better than to try and comfort him just now. "I'm being discharged in the morning, but I'm planning to stay in town for a bit. Do get some rest."

Chase barely inclined his head in response, not watching as Melinda exited, looking very forlorn. Cameron stayed put, and Chase fell back onto his pillows, feeling his eyelids growing heavier from the morphine haze.

"Do you…" Cameron began.

"Want to talk about it?" Chase finished for her. "No. Wilson called to tell me that he'll be back in a couple of hours after he's reviewed the scans more thoroughly so we can start discussing more specific options, but that they want to give my head a few more days to heal before putting me under again. I'll get to do enough talking then."

"Do you want me to go?" Cameron asked.

"I should want you to," Chase answered, finally looking at her. He craved the safety of the familiar, and even if she'd been gone, even if he didn't know how to label what he felt about his ex-wife, she was at least, very familiar, and that was the only comfort he could cling to. "But I don't. Just…I want to talk about _anything_ else right now. I don't want to talk about my Dad, or the accident, or the cancer."

Cameron nodded, a small smile on her lips even as worry plagued her eyes.

"Foreman went out to sneak in some non-hospital food for you," she said, changing the subject as he'd requested. "Said that crappy stuff wouldn't do you any good."

Chase laughed quietly at that; Foreman drove him insane sometimes, and they had certainly had their arguments, and would undoubtedly continue the trend, but they were friends, despite themselves. He closed his eyes again, his mind defending itself against all the intensity of his emotions and making him feel blissfully numb. It was almost a relief, but he knew, God did he know, that it would all eventually come flooding back stronger than before. His father's face when he'd last seen him spun in his mind, intertwining with the blood he'd coughed up and the car crashing into his, tires screeching in an incredibly unpleasant symphony of sound. He saw the x-rays of his lung cancer in Wilson's hand, and swore he could feel the pinch of the biopsy needle grasping a piece of the diseased organ. He heard House's voice in his head, telling him to keep his head together.

"How about we just watch TV?" Cameron asked, her voice sounding like a faraway whisper. He felt her smooth his bedcovers unnecessarily.

He nodded against his pillow, the sounds of what sounded like Law and Order coming through the feeble TV speakers, a drug-induced sleep claiming him once more.


	10. Never Give Up

Ghosts of the Past

A/N: Hello all! I'm really sorry for the long delay…I was suffering major writer's block on this story. I knew exactly what I wanted, and yet I stared at the page and couldn't write it down. But thanks to several House DVD marathons, the awesome new episodes of House (and the Chase screen time!) that have been on since the show came back on in January, I'm completely cured! Anyhow, I do hope you like this chapter. Even though this is dealing with tough subject matter, I do promise some lighthearted moments in future chapters. Enjoy, and please let me know what you think; thanks to everyone who is reading or reviewing!

Chapter 10: Never Give Up

Chase wasn't sure how long he'd been out, but he awoke to the sound of Cameron and Foreman's soft tones, the smell of Chinese food wafting into his nose. He opened his eyes, the reality of his situation hitting him as consciousness fully took over. He pushed down the wave of anxiety that threatened to eat away at him and sat up against the pillows, the rustling causing the other two to look up.

"Hey man," Foreman said. "How are you feeling?"

Chase wanted to tell him that he felt as if his entire life was spiraling completely out of control, that this entire thing felt like something out of a novel.

"Sore," he said instead. "My head and ribs still hurt, but the wrist is feeling better."

"Foreman snuck in some Chinese for you," Cameron said, gesturing at the red and white box. "There's some chicken fried rice in there."

"I could eat," Chase replied, reaching for the fork Foreman had lain next to the rice, realizing he didn't really remember the last time he'd eaten anything solid. He glanced at Foreman, a hint of a smirk flitting across his features. "Breaking the rules, huh?"

"House has rubbed off on me," Foreman quipped.

Chase dug into the rice, feeling hungry for the first time since the accident. Sitting here with Foreman and Cameron reminded him of the thousands of times they'd sat at the conference table eating out of boxes just like this at some ungodly hour of the night, throwing out diagnoses and sniping because they hadn't slept, it reminded him of all the times they'd met up for dinner while he was working in surgery, Cameron in the ER, and Foreman in Diagnostics, arguing, laughing, and sharing hospital gossip. The three of them had faced their ups and downs with each other, but in the end, Chase knew the three of them together shared a strong bond.

He peeked up, still busying himself with the rice, taking in their expressions and body language. Foreman tried to appear relaxed, but the magazine in his lap was only open to the first page, and his hands were tightly knit together. Cameron's legs were crossed together so firmly that Chase thought she might have a difficult time unwinding them, one foot jiggling with nerves. It was terrifying really, for one of them to be the patient, because they were supposed to diagnose and cure others, they weren't supposed to ever be in the sick bed. It was his turn, Chase supposed, knowing it was morbid: after all, Foreman had once caught a deadly brain virus from a patient, Cameron had experienced an HIV scare from being coughed on by a patient, and House had been the one in the hospital too many times to count.

"It's good you're eating," Cameron piped up.

"I don't think I've eaten anything really solid since the accident," Chase answered, closing the top of the box. His appetite wasn't exactly stellar, but at least he'd eaten something. "The nurse forced some orange juice and toast down, but aside from that…" he trailed off, suddenly remembering that Wilson was due to come by. "When is Wilson coming?"

"He paged me to say he was coming in about ten minutes," Foreman said. "And last I saw, House was locked in Wilson's office, so I'm guessing he'll be along too."

Chase paused, considering his next question. House had been honest with him during his last visit, but it was always interesting to get another perspective on his complex, sometimes perplexing boss.

"How is House taking it?" he asked, his hands fiddling with the sheets. "He was pretty serious when he came in here. Told me if I didn't get upset he'd send me to the psych ward."

Foreman rolled his eyes but couldn't help but chuckle.

"He's taking emotional things like he usually does," he replied. "He gets snippy, shuts people out. He's hardly even talked to Cuddy, and other than following Wilson around, he keeps sitting in his office with that intense look on his face."

"A sure sign he's upset," Cameron said, meeting Chase's eyes for a moment. She'd been the only one to whom he'd admitted that House was a bit of a twisted father figure; his other friends from around the hospital, especially the ones from surgery, had never really made sense of his relationship with House, but Cameron had understood, had felt the same way. "Even though I've been gone, I know that hasn't changed, and it's not likely to anytime soon."

Chase was hit by the significance of her words; it was small, but in saying that she'd been gone, Cameron was admitting that things were different, that things couldn't go back to the way they were before she'd left. She continued holding his gaze with her own particular brand of intensity, raw emotion that she attempted to keep hidden swirling within her eyes. If she hadn't returned the night of the lockdown, he wasn't sure he'd be willing to risk any re-consideration of their relationship, simply because there had been far too many unanswered questions, and he'd already watched his heart shatter on the floor once. He'd been hurt, but he'd also been furious. But that night…that night had left him with an entirely different set of unanswered questions, but the love they had felt for each other had been thick in the air, and he dared himself to maintain a shred of hope. She'd said that she had loved him, and that was somehow more difficult to deal with than if she hadn't. He wasn't expecting anything, but now that she was here…he knew it was unwise, perhaps, but their relationship had always been anything but simple.

Quiet fell as Chase's cancer once again became the elephant in the room, suffocating their voices.

Foreman cleared his throat, a sign he was about to say something emotional.

"You know that we're here for you, right?" he asked, sincerity in his expression. Foreman was not a man to mince words, so Chase knew he was telling the truth. "I know I give you crap sometimes, but you are my friend, and I'll do whatever you need me to do right now."

"I know," Chase replied, smiling slightly in reassurance, suddenly feeling overwhelmed at being the center of attention, instead of fading into the background as he so often attempted to do. He caught a shared glance between Cameron and Foreman, his curiosity piqued.

"I," Cameron began, hesitant. "I took the next couple of weeks off work, just to see how your treatment goes. I've racked up God knows how much vacation, and I've got another doctor tending to my patients while I'm gone. But I'll only stay if it's alright with you."

Her offer to put the ball in his court surprised him more than the news about her taking vacation; Cameron often did things on her terms, and although she'd softened up about that over the past years, it was still a part of her. Her willingness to leave it up to him, her willingness not to hover if she wasn't wanted, spoke volumes.

"It's fine," Chase said, nodding at her in response because he wasn't sure how to phrase what he was thinking.

Before any further words were spoken, a knock punctuated the room, and Wilson appeared at the window, House in tow. The sound of the glass door sliding opened seemed unusually loud in Chase's ears. His heart started pounding so hard he could see it through the thin fabric of the hospital gown. He tried to force what he sincerely hoped was an impassive expression onto his face, but knew it likely wasn't a successful attempt.

"Dr. Sleepyhead is awake, I see," House said, making himself comfortable in the empty chair beside Cameron. "It's about time."

"You're the one who upped my morphine," Chase argued.

"House," Wilson reprimanded, drawing out the name and rolling his eyes at his friend. "You're not even the attending, Dr. Simmons is until Chase is out of the ICU, and then when he gets moved to Oncology, _I_ am."

"I could see the man was in pain," House said. His voice was full of its usual intrinsic sarcasm, but the empathetic glint in his eyes told a different story. "I figured I might as well put a stop to it. Now, put the boy out of his agony and tell him what the plan is."

Wilson looked ready to respond, but knowing any argument was futile, he turned back to Chase.

"It's not good news, I take it?" Chase half-joked, feeling his hands start to shake. House noticed, but Cameron and Foreman were too focused on Wilson, something Chase was grateful for.

"Actually it's pretty positive," Wilson said, allowing a small smile to slip onto his face. "The cancer is at stage IIIA, but the tumor, while a decent size, can likely be mostly if not entirely removed with a segmental resection."

"And the rest of it?" Chase asked, daring to hope.

"The tests confirmed that it hasn't spread to any other organs, although it has spread to some lymph nodes in your sternum," Wilson continued. "But I believe we can get rid of it with radiation if we attack this fast. It's more effective than chemo with lung cancer, generally speaking."

"So when is the surgery?" Chase asked, feeling his heart crawl its way up his throat. "Today?"

"The day after tomorrow, actually…" Wilson began.

"Simmons, in all his mighty wisdom, said he wanted to monitor your concussion, just to be sure there won't be any brain swelling," House interrupted. "I tried to make him see reason, but…"

"We'll be keeping you in the ICU until tomorrow night, and then we'll move you to the Oncology ward in preparation for the surgery the next day," Wilson cut back in.

"The good news is," House said, a smirk on his face. "You won't be losing any of that oh so pretty boy hair of yours."

Where normally Chase would have brushed the comment off with silence and a roll of his eyes, this time, he laughed out loud. The rug of his world had been violently and suddenly pulled out from under his feet, and House's jab was so typical, so _normal_, that he found it comforting. Foreman shook his head, and Cameron smiled despite herself.

"You know," Wilson said in a very matter-of-fact tone. "He could probably sue you for verbal sexual harassment for all those kinds of comments over the years."

"Statute of limitations," House quipped, glancing over at the littering of Chinese takeout boxes. "Contraband food, I see. Your doing, I take it?" he asked, turning to Cameron.

"Mine, actually," Foreman said. "Like you said, the food here is only one step-above Riker's Island." He raised a single eyebrow.

"You _have_ been around me too long," House said, amused. He turned his gaze back to Cameron. "Come with me to my office for a minute."

She looked unsure, and Chase couldn't blame her; House was up to something.

"I don't bite," House assured her. He lifted his cane up off the floor. "And I'm pretty sure you can outrun me if need be."

"Okay…" Cameron said, drawing out the word. "Sure."

"We'll let you rest," Wilson said, sharing a bewildered glance with Foreman.

Chase felt the oncologist squeeze his shoulder before watching his friends and colleagues exit the room.

* * *

><p>Within five minutes Cameron found herself sitting across from her ex-boss, his hands folded on top of the glass desk. He was trying to read her, that much was obvious, but she grew irritated by his silence.<p>

"So, did you bring me in here to talk about something, or to try and make an attempt to read my mind?" she asked.

"Some things never change," House muttered, but at seeing Cameron open her mouth to argue, started speaking again. "You need to get him to talk."

"You already did that, from what I ascertained earlier," Cameron said, but her voice was losing a bit of it terseness.

"I broke the surface, yes," House continued, eyes still not leaving her face. "But you need to dig in deeper."

"Why are you leaving this task to me?" Cameron shot back, her defenses rising for reasons she couldn't quite explain. "I thought you would want to get him to talk yourself."

"I will," House said, annoyingly cryptic. "But right now, he needs to talk to _you_, needs to know where you stand with him, wherever the hell that is. He's freaked out about the Cancer, about you being here, about his stepmother's news, and he needs to focus his energy on getting well and not worrying about all the other crap going on."

House's blue eyes were covered with clouds of worry, even as he tried to conceal his feelings by acting like his usual self.

"I think he's still angry with me," Cameron said softly, diverting her eyes from House's face to her hands twisted in her lap.

"Since when have you been afraid of his anger?" House questioned. "Since when have you been afraid of anyone's anger?"

"But...I…"

"You're not afraid of his anger," House said, cutting off her mumbling. "You're afraid of yourself, and you're afraid of this situation. You constantly sabotage yourself."

"I don't!" Cameron exclaimed, feeling hot anger flaring within her. "That's you. I've changed."

"People can move, people can get new hairstyles, new jobs, new hobbies, new friends, new significant others," House said, eyes narrowing, although he didn't raise his voice. "But the inherent parts of a person? What's that? Oh, they _don't_ change!"

"You don't know me."

"I do. And you know it."

Cameron crossed her arms over her chest, sliding slightly lower in her chair. She hated that House was right, hated that he could sense her fear. Right now, she just wanted to be there for Chase while he was sick, wanted to be at this side, because she knew intimately how deep his abandonment issues were, knew how hard she had worked to stop him from turning inward to himself during times of trouble. But a part of her…a part of her couldn't help but entertain the thought of a renewed relationship with him; she'd entertained it from the moment she'd walked out of their condo, and seeing how well they still fit together during the night of the lockdown, realizing how much she still loved him, the force of it feeling like a punch to the stomach, did nothing to help those thoughts.

"What do you want me to do?" she asked, looking back up at House. His expression had lost some of its electric intensity, and he contemplated her, looking as if he was thinking of something in the past, of other times when she had sat across from him at this desk.

"Talk to him about the Cancer, Melinda, his father, just make him _talk_," House said. "If he doesn't, he'll shut off, and he won't fight this, and all that kind of sappy stuff Wilson always talks about. Besides, it's not like he can run away from you."

"Okay," Cameron said, nodding as a renewed strength in her voice. "I can do that."

"Good. Now get out," House said, shooing her with his hands and putting on his reading glasses. "I've got some research to do."

Cameron did as requested and rose from the chair, but stopped in the doorway for a moment, turning her head to look back at House. She'd been sad, furious, and utterly confused the last time she'd seen House, and a part of her was still angry, but despite herself, she still cared about him.

"Thanks, House," she half-whispered.

He nodded, looking at her over the tops of his reading glasses.

She was hesitant about what she would say next, but proceeded, knowing there was nothing to lose.

"He's always looked up to, you know," she said, referring to Chase. "He's always cared about you. And now…now he really needs you."

Quiet punctuated the room, loud in the absolute absence of noise.

"I know," House said gruffly, looking back down. "Now go do what I said."

"I don't even work here and you're still bossing me around," Cameron chuckled. Then she left, determined to get through to Chase.

* * *

><p>Chase pretended to be asleep when he heard the door open. Judging from the sound of the footsteps, he knew it was Cameron; there was no thud of the cane to indicate House, no firm, sure echo to indicate Foreman, no heels to indicate Cuddy, no attempt to quiet the sound to indicate Wilson. No, these footsteps were at the same time both hesitant and determined. The door slid open and closed again, and he still kept his eyes shut. He wasn't ready to talk yet, even as he heard House's voice in his head, urging him to face this.<p>

"I know you aren't asleep," Cameron said, and Chase heard her settling into the chair nearest him. "You never sleep on your back, only on your side and your stomach."

Chase popped one eye open; her normally pristine blonde hair was in a messy ponytail, and she wore an old med-school t-shirt with jeans, a spot of light green paint on the leg. His mind flashed momentarily to the day they'd re-painted the condo shortly after they'd returned from their honeymoon, and they'd ended up covered in the stuff.

"Caught me," Chase said, opening both eyes and sitting up to face her. "What's up?" he asked, keeping his tone even, stoic, almost. A part of him wanted to break down, to sob even harder than he had when House had been here, but a bigger part of him put up his walls, protecting himself.

She folded one of her hands over his, and he didn't pull back, but he felt fear take a sewing needle and thread it in and out of his heart, shooting ice through his bloodstream.

"We need to talk," she said. "_You _need to talk."

"About what?" Chase questioned, injecting a nonchalance that didn't actually exist into his voice.

"About this," she said, not removing her hand. "About what's happening."

"I don't want to talk about it right now," he said. "And besides, House was already in here. I've dealt with it, and I've faced it."

"You've barely scratched the surface," she said, the first sign of irritation entering her tone. "You always encourage patients to deal with what's going on around them. You always made me face things. It's emotionally healthy…"

"Like I need you telling me what's emotionally healthy," Chase said, cutting her off and pulling his hand out from under hers. The words spouted from his mouth like venom, and as much as he wanted to control them, he couldn't. He was utterly terrified, and he felt it overcoming his entire person.

"What happened to the Robert I knew?" she said without missing a beat, ignoring his swipe.

"He's sitting right here."

"No he isn't," she said, hands gripping the metal rail of the bed. "The Robert I knew would be fighting back against this, he wouldn't give up over this illness. The Robert I knew _never_ gave up. You applied for one of the most prestigious jobs in the country, moved here from another continent, you made House believe in you. You probably saved more lives than your father likely ever did, and you kept pursuing me until I came to my senses. You came into work practically falling down sick from the flu because you were worried about a patient…"

"Why are you still _here_?" he asked. "I just…I don't understand."

"I told you," she said, gritting her teeth. "I'm staying to make sure…"

"You _left_ me!" he exploded. "I had to watch you leave _twice_. Just…" he struggled to keep his voice steady. "Just _go_, before you can leave again after I've started acting like a fool and getting my hopes up."

"I came back," she said, her own voice straining.

"You came back before."

"I thought…I thought we needed that proper goodbye, that it made things better between us."

"It did," Chase admitted. "But you still _left_. I'm trying to deal with the fact that I have cancer."

"You aren't dealing with it," Cameron insisted. "How do you _feel_ about it? You. Not anyone else. You."

"How the hell do you think I feel, Allison!" he said, shouting again.

"Don't turn this back around on me!" she said. "I asked how you feel about it!"

"Like God, or the universe or whatever you might want to name it, is playing some kind of sick, cosmic joke on me, that's how I feel!" he said, feeling uninvited tears spring to his eyes, hating how utterly out of control he felt. "My father's last curse from the grave."

"You need to stop worrying about your father, who is _not_ cursing you, you need to stop worrying about my motives, you need to stop worrying about Melinda," Cameron said, leaning in closer, desperately searching his eyes. "And start focusing, for once in your life, on _you_. You have to have hope, you have to maintain that optimism. Wilson will tell you that depressed cancer patients go downhill." She drew a shaky breath, drawing Chase's eyes to her face. "You have to…you can't…" she trailed off, weaving her fingertips through her hair.

Silence stood between them, and Chase found he couldn't form words. He was angry at God, at his body, at Melinda, at his father, and he was frightened. There was so much going on, and his rational mind was failing to assist his emotional center in coping with everything. Yet, even as he was tempted to shield himself from any hurt by anyone left in his life, to simply ignore what was happening, a voice in the back of his head warned him that House and Cameron were right. Cameron looked up again, tears streaming down her face.

"Didn't I tell you once," she whispered. "That no matter what happened between us, that I would be there if you really needed me?"

"Yes," he said, the words hitting him like bullets, the ice in his veins starting to thaw. "Yes."

"I know you're scared," she said, voice growing hoarse. "Anyone would be. And I know you're angry. But I'm here for you, everyone is here for you, and I really hope eventually you'll believe us."

In that moment Chase met her eyes directly, and the walls that House had so expertly cracked came crashing down at Cameron's words, an emotional tag-team that had succeeded. He ran his hands tightly through his hair, pure, unadulterated sobs breaking through his well-built armor. Cameron moved from her position and sat on the bed, seizing Chase's arm and gently pulling him toward her. He went rigid, but gave in after a few moments, and she wrapped her arms tightly around him, running a hand up and down his back. She'd seen him upset, had obviously seen him cry more than once, but outright sobbing was a rarity for him, and this…this was on an entirely different level.

"Why this?" he asked, barely audible. "Why _this,_ out of anything in the entire fucking spectrum of diseases?"

"I don't know, babe," she said, hardly noticing when she used the old term of endearment out of habit. "But it's going to be okay. Wilson has it figured out. And you know House won't back off until that cancer won't even know what hit it."

He didn't respond but pressed his face into her shoulder, not caring if he was being foolish, not caring if she got up and left as soon as he was well, because right now, he needed her.

Meanwhile, House watched from outside, positioned so that the pair couldn't see him, a reluctant father seeing two of his adopted, emotionally scarred children reunite. The sound of heels echoed down the hall, coming closer.

"I got a page that there was shouting coming from Chase's room," Cuddy said, coming up next to him. She made to reach for the door. "I know this is intense, but this isn't good for the other patients, not to mention Chase, in his condition. Or Cameron. I'm going to go see…"

"Don't," House said, putting a hand on her arm to stop her. "My idea actually worked."

"What?" Cuddy asked, glancing into the room, seeing Cameron holding Chase, whose face wasn't visible. "Oh. You…brought them together? I though you wondered if her coming was even a good idea?"

"Chase needed to break down," House said, eyes still fixed on Chase and Cameron. "I started the process, but I knew Cameron could pull at those raw emotions. It's a talent of hers. He was already starting to give up, and I'll be damned if I let him pull something like that."

Cuddy slid her hand down House's arm and took his hand, intertwining her fingers with his own.

"I know you're worried about him," she said quietly. "We all are."

He didn't respond, but lightly squeezed her hand.

"And I know you care about him," she continued. "You've given him more crap than pretty much anyone on your team, a sure sign he's special to you."

House's eyes flitted to her face momentarily, then back to his present and former fellows on the other side of the glass.

"He's grown on me," he said gruffly. "He's grown on me."


	11. A Surgery MovedUp

Ghosts of the Past

A/N: Hi guys! Here I am again, and I haven't fallen off the face of the earth, hurray! I was busy studying for/taking/waiting on the results of my comprehensive exams for my masters, which is where I've been. But I passed, and am almost ready to graduate, and I'm majorly relieved. This is a bit of bridge chapter, so I apologize for that, but it was necessary to move forward with the story. But you get a new character, and I do hope you enjoy! Also, I don't know about anyone else, but I am absolutely LOVING these last episodes of House, especially all the screen time Chase is getting. Thanks to everyone for sticking with this story, it is much appreciated!

Chapter 11: A Surgery Moved-Up

Chase opened his eyes slowly, immediately taking notice of how high the sun was; it had to be noon, at least. The room appeared to be empty, at least until he turned his head the other way.

"Holy shit!" he said, sitting up without hesitation. "Andrew, what the hell? Am I hallucinating?"

"God I hope not," came the reply of his childhood best friend. "It would be a pity if I were just a hallucination, seeing as how I spent nearly twenty-four hours on a plane to get here."

Chase stared at him for a moment, flabbergasted. He had met Andrew in the first grade at the Catholic elementary school they'd both attended, and they'd been best friends ever since. They'd been roommates in college, and had only separated when Chase had gone to medical school and Andrew to law school…he'd been the best man at Chase's wedding.

"How did you even…Why are you here?" Chase asked, quite unable to string his words together from a mixture of morphine, sleep, and surprise.

"Foreman called me first, then Melinda, then Allison," Andrew said, pushing his black-framed glasses up his nose. "I figured the third time was the charm. Oh, and the fact that my best friend got into a _car wreck_ and was diagnosed with _lung cancer_, and didn't even think to call me…that might have had something to do with it."

"I…" Chase tried to think of ways to defend himself. "I didn't want to freak you out."

"Typical," Andrew answered with a roll of his eyes.

"Don't you have criminals to deal with, or something?" Chase asked, but was unable to suppress a small grin.

"There are thousands of lawyers," Andrew answered, brushing a stray dark brown hair from his eye. "I'm sure they can handle it."

Silence fell between them for a moment, and for lack of something else to do, Chase reached for the half-full glass of water on his bedside table, just realizing how dry his throat felt. Andrew being here cemented even further the seriousness of the situation once more, and Chase found himself almost entirely unable to shut out the harsh reality any longer, especially not after how raw he'd been with Cameron last night. That being said, however, he was still relieved to see his friend, this friend who had certainly seen him at his weakest.

"You should have called me, Rob," Andrew said, breaking the silence and using Chase's old nickname. "I don't give a shit if I live on the other side of the world. Or did you just plan on mentioning this little tidbit during our next skype session?"

"I know I should have told you," he said, his eyes finally flickering up to meet his friend's. "It's just been almost…unreal the past few days, and I've been on pain medication, and this particular illness…" he trailed off, unsure of how to continue.

"Your dad," Andrew said softly, understanding in every word. "I know. But just because your dad died, it doesn't mean you will. Allison told me it was only early stage three and that surgery could remove most of it…"

"Melinda knew my dad didn't tell me he was sick," Chase blurted out, hardly even knowing why. "I…"

"That's not what you need to focus on now," Andrew cut in, but his eyes widened slightly in surprise.

"I know," Chase agreed, running his hands over his face in frustration. "I just can't stop thinking about."

Andrew was about to respond when the door slid open without ceremony, revealing House's mischievous expression.

"Brain swelling's all gone," he said, seizing the chart to mark something, despite repeated attempts by multiple people telling him that he was not, in fact, the attending. He glanced over at Andrew as though he had just noticed him. "Is this your fellow kangaroo hunter from old Aussie?"

"I don't hunt kangaroos," Andrew said, raising his eyebrows. "But I am from Australia. You're the infamous Dr. House, I take it?"

"The one and only," House quipped, hanging the chart back on the edge of the bed. "And you're…" he looked down at some ink scribbled on his palm. "Andrew Gilmore?"

"The one and only."

A small grin tugged at House's lips at Andrew's retort. He turned to Chase once more, a flicker of seriousness returning to his eyes.

"Since the brain swelling as gone, Dr. Simmons has turned you over to Wilson, and consented to do the surgery today rather than tomorrow," he said, looking Chase directly in the eyes.

"I don't suppose you had anything to do with that?" Chased questioned, attempting to joke, but suddenly feeling as if he couldn't quite get a deep breath.

"Wilson has asked Killian to do the surgery, and he'll be assisting," House said, pointedly avoiding the question, even though Chase already knew the answer. "They're coming in to start prepping you in about half an hour."

"An hour!" Chase exclaimed. "Why didn't you wake me up before? I need…"

"Need what?" House replied. "Me waking you up three hours ago and you waking up now makes no difference to what time your surgery is."

Chase closed his eyes and breathed in deeply, remembering that House was House, and him pushing the surgery up was just his way of showing he cared.

"The sooner the better though right?" Andrew chimed in, sounding encouraging, but also looking a smidge nervous at House's bluntness. "We don't want it spreading any more than it already has, right?"

"No," Chase said, trying to regain his composure. "No, I don't." He suddenly recalled that Cameron was no longer in the room. "Where did Allison go?"

"She went to the cafeteria with Dr. Foreman," Andrew answered, starting to rise from his chair. "Do you want me to get her?"

"I…" Chase hesitated. "Yes," he decided. "Foreman too, I think." He craved any-and-everything familiar, silly or childish as it might have been. He had performed countless surgeries, and yet when it came to his own…

Andrew consented, and silently rose from his chair, leaving House and Chase alone. Chase sat up straighter in bed, eyes flashing in House's reaction.

"You should have woken me up, House," he said, hardly recognizing the bite in his own voice. "I had a right to be consulted about when my surgery would be."

"Right," House snorted, dismissing Chase's protests. "So we can let the cancer just keep spreading through your body. You needed the sleep."

"You _aren't_ my attending physician!" Chase said, his voice rising. He knew full well that he was being irrational, that he was taking his fears out on House, but he didn't care.

"So I suppose you'd rather me just butt out of the whole thing then?" House questioned, not raising his own voice, but the frustration was evident.

"Maybe so!"

"Too damn bad," House retorted, sitting down in a chair to cement the point that he wasn't leaving.

"Since when do you care so much?" Chase asked, not backing down.

"You're an idiot," House quipped in reply. "You trust me, and you know it. You're just freaked out."

He met Chase's eyes for a moment then looked back down at the floor, a mere second's worth of vulnerability crossing his face. Chase softened.

"You still should have at least woken me up," he grumbled.

"Don't worry," House said. "Next time you get cancer, I'll wake you up earlier so you can wallow in your anxiety." He paused. "Your stepmother came to my office looking for you."

Chase averted his eyes. "What did she want?"

"To see how you were doing, what the progress was," House said slowly, searching Chase's face. "But she could have come and asked you." He didn't even need to voice the question for Chase to know it was there.

Chase looked at him again, knowing House would find out anyway, because despite people's efforts, he always did.

"She knew…" Chase began. "She knew my Dad didn't tell me about his cancer. He apparently thought my 'hero-complex' in trying to save him would only cause me grief, so he saw fit not to tell me about it."

"In the back your mind, you knew that she knew," House said. "Her confirming that shouldn't change anything."

"I _didn't_ know," Chase insisted. "I knew my father always thought I had a hero-complex, I _never_ knew that Melinda didn't know that I didn't know about his cancer."

"That's quite a tongue twister you've discovered," House replied. "Regardless of what you knew, you need to quit thinking about it, like I'm _pretty_ sure I told you already. Also quit avoiding her."

"Ha!" Chase laughed, the sound a bit foreign to his ears after the last few days. "You're the king of avoidance!"

"Never said I wanted you to be like me," House said. His words contained their usual mix of sarcasm and slight mocking, but a spark of seriousness was in his eyes, indicating the sincerity of his words. House, Chase mused, would never be the king of communication. Before he could respond, Cameron, Foreman, and Andrew walked back into the room.

"House!" Foreman exclaimed. "Why didn't you tell us you got the surgery moved up?"

"Because," House sighed, exasperated now. "I knew you would probably come in here and wake him up, and everyone would cause a ruckus, and he needed the rest. How many times am I going to have to repeat that?"

"Only once, it looks like," Cameron answered. "Since I'm assuming you just told Chase."

She moved over to the side of Chase's bed opposite from House, tentative in her movements. Chase couldn't blame her; they'd both been incredibly vulnerable with each other last night, and Chase vaguely recalled her climbing up into the bed to comfort him, and the ghost of her perfume on his sheets only cemented that memory. She chose to grasp the bed railing, still close to him, but not touching.

"Are you sure the brain swelling is down enough?" Foreman asked, still a bit disgruntled. "Or did you forget you had a neurologist you could check with?"

"It's gone!" House said, growing obviously irritated. "I checked, Wilson checked, Simmons checked…I would call Doogie Howser and get him to check, but I'd rather not let the cancer spread through Chase's body…"

"Guys!" Chase said, feeling his heartbeat grow quicker as he realized that they would be coming for him any moment. "Just stop, okay? If they say it's gone, it's gone."

"He's not being objective…"

"Neither are you," Cameron said, not unkindly, as she turned to Foreman. "But if three doctors agree, then it's better the surgery gets done so they can remove the tumor and move on."

"Will removing the tumor remove all of the cancer?" Andrew asked.

Chase shook his head, eyeing Wilson approaching from the other side of the glass. "It's spread to some of the lymph nodes. After surgery we'll do radiation, which usually works best in lung cancers, and if that doesn't work, chemo."

Whatever anyone would have said next was cut off as Wilson opened the door, an ever-encouraging smile on his face.

"Ready?" he asked, focusing directly on Chase.

Chase felt everyone's eyes on him, and for once, House didn't even speak, choosing instead to roll his eyes at his best friend for asking what he obviously deemed a stupid question.

"I don't suppose I really have a choice, do I?" Chased asked, a weak smile on his face, an inevitable response to Wilson's kindness.

"Afraid not," Wilson responded, gesturing at the nurses to help him undo Chase's machines and roll the bed out of the room. "But you're in good hands."

Chase nodded, attempting to quell the nerves that were creating pin-pricks all over his body like tiny needles. He was in one of the best hospital in the country, under the care of his friends, and he knew he was getting the highest quality care possible, and yet…

"We'll be here when you wake up, mate," Andrew said, squeezing his shoulder.

"Good luck man," Foreman said quietly.

As if on instinct, Cameron grasped his hand momentarily and gave him a smile, the words between them seemingly exhausted for the moment, and in that moment, he fully realized how glad he was that she was there. House remained silent, hands grasping his cane, and Chase knew full-well that as soon as he could get away with it, he would go straight for the observation deck. With that Wilson and the nurses rolled him out of the room, and as touched as he was by everyone's presence, he almost felt…relieved. He sank further back onto the pillows.

"Were they bickering?" he asked, already knowing the answer.

"House and Foreman were," Chase admitted. "And Allison too, a little. It felt almost like…"

"Old times?" Wilson asked.

"Like that, yeah," Chase answered wistfully, spotting Cuddy at the entrance to the OR.

"I just wanted to wish you well," she said as they arrived at the doors. Chase thought he spied a slight redness around her eyes, and suddenly felt a swell of affection for his boss of nearly eight years. "I've got one of the best rooms saved after you get out of recovery."

"Thanks, Cuddy," he said, as she too, reached out to squeeze his shoulder. "I appreciate it." From down the hall he spotted Taub and Masters, who waved.

With that, they wheeled Chase into the prep room, and the nurses went to retrieve some needed items, leaving Wilson and Chase momentarily alone.

"It's alright to be afraid," Wilson said, coming over to sit next to him. "I'd be afraid too, and I'm surrounded by cancer all day long. And I promise I won't tell House," he joked.

"I'm pretty sure House knows all," Chase answered.

"That's probably true," Wilson chuckled, but then grew serious. "But you've got a good chance here. We're going to fight this, and although it might not always show, I'm just as determined as House is when it comes to saving my patients. I'm just…quieter about it. And in any case, you aren't just any patient."

Chase met Wilson's eyes, warmed by his words as he nodded in response. "Thanks Wilson," he said sincerely. "For everything."

"Anytime," Wilson said. "I've gotta go scrub in, but I'll be back before they put you under."

Chase nodded again, and twenty minutes later when they put him under, he kept repeating Wilson's words.

_We're going to fight this…_

Then he slipped into a not so blissful state of unconsciousness.


	12. A Fighting Family

Ghosts of the Past

A/N: I could go on and write a long apology for the ridiculous delay, give you my reasons, and beg your forgiveness, but instead of that, I'll just get right to the chapter. I had a hard time with this for some reason, but I'm hoping it's up to par. Enjoy!

Chapter 12: A Fighting Family

For the first minute Chase felt consciousness slowly sweep over him, he kept his eyes closed, caught in that peaceful place between sleep and wakefulness, or rather, sedation and wakefulness. He felt the distinct presence of someone next to him, his body numb.

Then the pain hit.

It came slowly, spreading from the site where he knew the incision must be, a dull throb spreading through his muscles. He opened his eyes and turned his head slightly to see Wilson seated next to him.

"Hey there," he said, moving to rest a hand gingerly on Chase's shoulder. "How…"

"The incision feels like someone stabbed me," Chase breathed, his voice sounding hoarse. "I…"

"I'll up the morphine," Wilson said, pushing the button without hesitation.

Chase nodded, a question on his lips. Before he could even raise it, however, Wilson spoke again.

"Your vitals are looking great, and House was right when he said the brain swelling was gone," Wilson said, but Chase could sense the reluctance in his voice. "And the wedge resection successfully removed the tumor and only had to remove a minimal part of the infected lung …"

"But?" Chase asked, knowing there was one. He felt the morphine seeping into his veins, unconsciousness threatening to overcome him again. He shook his head, attempting to fight it off.

"It's fantastic news that we could fully remove the tumor," Wilson reiterated. "But it spread further into your lymph nodes than we'd previously thought."

"Does that mean you'll have to remove the whole lobe of the lung?" Chase asked, feeling his heart rate quicken again.

"We don't know yet," Wilson said, squeezing his shoulder. "But as your attending, I've decided the best course of action is to employ both radiation and chemo to see if we can knock the rest of it out. It's not the most pleasant thing, and I know we were hoping you wouldn't have to deal with chemo, but I feel like it's the best idea."

Chase felt himself nod, but also felt as if someone had punched him directly in the stomach so hard that he couldn't breathe, his head spinning: it was good news, _very_ good news that they had been able to remove the entire tumor, which was almost unheard of in stage three cases. But it had spread, and now he would have to go through radiation _and _chemo. And what if that didn't work? What if it spread further? He breathed in as deeply as he could, trying to calm himself. He wanted to be brave, wanted to remain hopeful…but also found fear and uncertainty enveloping him like an ice-cold blanket. He vaguely heard the machines monitoring his stats beeping in the background, likely signaling a blood-pressure spike.

"3 milligrams of Lorazepam please," Wilson quietly asked the nurse who stood by. He scooted closer to Chase's bed, and to his surprise, Wilson grasped his hand tightly and looked directly in his eyes, solemn.

"It's okay, Chase," he said, his tone soothing. Chase suddenly realized, now more than ever, why Wilson got such stellar reviews from his patients. "We'll beat this. Just relax. You'll be alright…we're all here for you. We might be a dysfunctional family, but we're a family."

Had House been present, Chase knew that he would have instantly called Wilson a sap.

But in that moment, as the nurse injected the Lorazepam into the IV line, Chase realized that there _really_ were people who cared about him…this dysfunctional family of his at Princeton-Plainsboro, Allison included, Andrew, Melinda… and though fear still pricked at his heart as he fell unconscious once more under the intoxicating influence of Morphine and Lorazepam, he took comfort in that.

It might have been ironic given the situation he was in, but for one of the rare times in Chase's life, he felt safe.

* * *

><p>The next time he awoke, Chase was back in his regular hospital room, and moonlight was filtering in through the blinds. He opened his eyes just enough to see Andrew and Melinda sitting side by side, eyes fixed on the knot of people standing just beyond the glass door, which was just cracked enough for Chase to hear the conversation going on outside. Not willing to alert anyone to his consciousness just yet, he closed his eyes again, listening.<p>

"He can do his chemo treatments as an outpatient," House was saying. "He doesn't need to have all the other people in the hospital walking by and ogling him and smothering him with their pity. People do outpatient chemo treaments…"

"Not when they're stage three, they don't," Cuddy countered, interrupting her boyfriend.

"That you know of," House argued. "Trust me, Chase will agree."

"Just because he agrees it doesn't mean that's what's best for him," Cuddy replied. "Are we talking about what Chase would want or what _you_ think he wants? You wouldn't want people ogling you, but Chase might not care as much as you do."

"Of the two of us," House answered, clearly annoyed. "Who knows Chase best?"

"Alright, you two," Chase heard Foreman interrupt. "First, neither of you are his attending. Two, maybe we should, you know, _ask_ Chase about this when he wakes up?"

"I agree," Cameron and Wilson said, nearly simultaneously.

"Of course you do," House muttered, clearly disgruntled.

Realizing that unless he wanted to hear them bicker further without his input, despite the strangely comforting sound of it, Chase knew it was time to alert the world to his state of consciousness. He opened his eyes, pushing up slightly on the pillows to sit up, drawing the attention of both Melinda and Andrew.

"Hey there Rob," Andrew said, keeping his voice low as though he assumed that speaking above a whisper would alarm Chase. "How are you feeling?"

"A bit better than when I first woke up after surgery," Chase said, noticing that his voice sounded oddly hoarse. "But not the best."

"Wilson said he had to up your Morphine dosage," Melinda said, gingerly moving her chair closer to him. "That's not surprising though. But it's such wonderful news that they got the tumor."

"It is," Chase agreed, smiling slightly at her as he begrudgingly remembered House's advice to stop avoiding her. "But it's also spread further than they expected. I've still got to do both radiation and chemo."

"But the tumor was half the battle," Melinda gently insisted. "Especially at stage III."

Chase nodded, his eyes darting toward the door. "I heard them bickering, so you can let them know I'm awake."

"Are you sure you want to talk about all of that now?" Andrew questioned, raising one eyebrow in uncertainty.

"It's better to face it head on, I think," Chase admitted. "It needs to be settled before I pass out from the Morphine again. And before the lot of them wake up the rest of the hospital."

Andrew relented and stuck his head out the door, telling the group that Chase was awake, and with that, House, Wilson, Cuddy, Foreman, and Cameron filed in. If he had been any other patient, Chase was certain, this many people would not have been allowed in his room at once, especially when he was recovering from major surgery. Allison looked particularly pale, he noticed, as if she hadn't slept, Foreman looked oddly anxious, Wilson looked a mixture of worried and irritated, and House and Cuddy both looked like they were on a mission. Allison took a seat next to Andrew and shot him a small smile, but remained silent. He could tell from the look in her eyes, however, that she had a plan for whatever House was about to suggest.

"Hey man," Foreman said, clapping Chase carefully on the shoulder. "How're you feeling?"

"Enough with the pleasantries," House cut in before Chase could reply. "Answer me this, little Aussie: would you rather spend day at a time in a chemo suite, or would you rather do outpatient treatments?"

"House…" Wilson said sharply. "Who is the oncologist in this room?"

House turned slightly on his heel. "Well you of course, Jimmy. I'm just the lowly infectious disease guy." He mock bowed. "But what, pray tell, does that have to do with anything?"

Despite the fact that he agreed with House and would much rather do the outpatient treatments, Chase still turned to face Wilson, remembering his comforting words when he'd first awoken from surgery.

"Is it…possible to do chemo as an outpatient during stage III?" he asked. "When I'm recovered from surgery, I mean?"

Wilson sighed softly, his eyes flitting to House for a moment before landing back on Chase.

"While I normally wouldn't allow it at this stage, it's possible to do both the radiation and the chemo on an outpatient basis," he began, hesitation lacing his words. "But if the side effects get to be too much, you'll have to come in and be admitted. That's _non_-negotiable," he said, emphasizing the world "non" and glancing at House again.

Chase nodded, an odd relief flooding through him. It would be bad enough to have the prying eyes of all the hospital personnel on him while he came in for his treatment…he didn't know if he could take it on an inpatient basis; the past few days had been enough. He knew they all cared, the nurses, his fellow doctors, but when a doctor fell ill they were suddenly subject to more pity than a regular patient.

"But there's a condition," Wilson continued.

"Of course there is," House uttered darkly.

"Someone needs to stay with you on the days you have treatments, a medical professional. Or you can stay with them, whichever works out best."

Chase sat up to argue, but Wilson uncharacteristically cut him off.

"I know you don't want a nurse. My first choice would be Melinda since she took care of Rowan when he was ill," he said, glancing over at her. "But as it may be a few months, and she isn't licensed in the U.S., that's not the most viable option."

Melinda looked ready to argue that point, but kept silent.

"Am I supposed to…" Chase was going to say "choose" but never got the chance before two voices blended together with his own.

"I'll do it," House and Cameron said at once.

Everyone in the room, including Melinda and Andrew, looked at House in not-so-thinly-veiled shock. House, sensing everyone's gaze on him, rolled his eyes in annoyance.

"What? I _am_ human you know," he said, a light mocking in his tone. "Besides, doing the outpatient treatments was my idea in the first place."

Chase was about to speak again but Cameron jumped in first. Clearly, the tension between House and Allison was about to come to a head, and Chase wasn't entirely sure he wanted to witness it. He caught Foreman's eye, and knew his long-time colleague and friend was almost as nervous as he was.

"I'm his medical proxy," Cameron argued. One hand was on her hip, which Chase well knew was always a sign that she was ready for an argument. "It makes sense that I should stay with him."

"Because he forgot to take you off a piece of paper. And don't you have a life to get back to, or something? That's, you know, not here?" House shot back, allowing the smallest bit of anger to inject its way into his voice. "I see you still have your 'have to take care of any sick puppy that crosses your path' complex."

"House…" Wilson tried to cut in.

"And I see you still have your asshole complex!" Cameron responded, drowning out Wilson. "This shouldn't even be an argument. This isn't even about Chase, you just want to get your way."

"And you just want to butt in where you no longer belong!" House exploded, his voice rising ever so slightly and echoing through the room. "Come on, you know he'll have more fun with me. With you it will just be 'do this, and don't do that' and oh, did you forget that you're his _ex_-wife? You're not obliged to that whole in sickness and in health thing anymore."

"Right, because that's what important during chemo and radiation," Cameron said, the sarcasm distinct in her tone as she pointedly ignored House's last comment. "_Fun_."

Chase's heart started beating rapidly from anxiety, and he felt like chucking something across the room, yet there was nothing within easy reach. They weren't even bothering to ask him what _he_ might have wanted, but a part of him also didn't want to make the choice, because this had grown to be about more than just who should clean up his vomit during chemo; to House and Cameron, this was about where his loyalties were, yet he wasn't sure why he was being forced to choose.

The fact was, he had loyalties to them both. House, though he was loathe to admit it, resented Cameron for up and leaving the marriage, for leaving the hospital as a whole, and Cameron resented House for getting in the middle of the relationship.

"Sorry to break in here," Andrew said, taking advantage of the short moment of silence. "But shouldn't this be Rob's choice?"

Chase felt everyone's glances on him, but House and Allison's burned into him more than anyone else's. The inner fear of conflict that had been ingrained into him after listening to night after night of his parents' screaming until two in the morning as he rocked his crying sister to sleep, reared its ugly head. He'd made such progress with that, and yet now…

His heart beat faster.

The incision from the surgery burned.

Once again, he wanted everyone to just leave him _alone_.

He thought of his father, who had appeared so healthy in his stage four cancer, and wondered how he had felt when he was diagnosed, how he had felt going through the treatments and the pain. The fury he'd felt at Melinda for keeping his father's secret, which had ebbed at seeing how concerned she was, flared up again.

"Well?" House prodded, his eyes boring into his employee's as Chase looked up.

"I…" Chase began. He suddenly felt like the younger version of himself, constantly trying to get House's respect, struggling to remember that he actually had it now.

He glanced at Cameron, remembering how she'd taken care of him when he'd had that raging stomach flu for a week when they'd been dating for about a year, knowing that it would be easier at least, to vomit while she was around, but also wanting House to know he appreciated the gesture, because it wasn't as if House went around offering things like this every day. He felt oddly safe with Cameron despite what they'd been through, but he trusted House for being a stable presence in his life despite his own instability.

"Robert?" Cameron questioned. "What…"

"I appreciate the gesture from both of you," Chase said, clenching his teeth in irritation. "But just give me a minute to think, okay? You're bombarding me."

He remembered House's hand on his shoulder two days ago when he'd first let the tears come about the cancer, remembered Allison sitting with him last night until he fell asleep, listening to him rant about how his father was cursing him from the grave.

The monitor started beeping.

"The two of you have made his blood pressure spike," Wilson said, thoroughly irritated now. "Just… out. Everyone but Andrew _out_."

"Make a choice, Chase," House said, unmoving despite his best friend's command.

"House, enough," Cuddy said, grabbing his arm.

"Allison's my medical proxy," Chase finally blurted out. "It's just simpler if she stays with me. Legally speaking."

Silence fell thickly around the room, the only sound the continuing beeping of the monitor.

House stared at him, his expression suddenly unreadable, but the one word he uttered made his feelings clear.

"Typical."

With that, he turned on his heel and left, cane making its signature thumping noise.

The machine started screaming its protest at being ignored.

"Everyone out. _Now_," Wilson said in a tone that brooked no argument. "Andrew, you stay."

"Wilson," Cameron started to protest.

"_No_," Wilson said, and Chase knew he'd never heard him sound so harsh with Allison. "Go. We'll talk later."

Chase watched as Melinda watched everyone else head out the door, and she was clearly hesitant.

"Dr. Wilson, could I?" she started to say.

"Everyone but Andrew," Wilson said again, but more gently this time.

This, Chase knew, was evidence that House had told Wilson about Melinda's revelation, and wanted all sources of stress out of the room. With that she went, falling into step with Cameron and Foreman, who walked in the opposite direction of Cuddy, who had gone after House. Chase felt his hands start shaking, felt his throat closing up, felt his skin growing clammy.

"Rob?" Andrew questioned, resting a careful hand on Chase's arm. "What's…"

"He's having a panic attack," Wilson said, making rapidly for the locked drawer on the other side of the room and withdrawing a syringe. "It's not surprising, considering he just had surgery and they chose that moment to start bickering and put him in the middle of it." He stuck the needle into the IV line.

"It's okay Chase," Wilson said in that same comforting voice he'd used in the recovery room. "Don't let them stress you out."

Chase nodded, his eyes falling closed for a moment. He trained himself so well to keep his emotions hidden from others aside from in private situations, and this was the opposite of that. He breathed in deeply, focusing on Andrew's hand on his arm and to the sound of Wilson's voice, trying very hard not to vomit.

"They both care and they're both stubborn and think they know what's best," he was saying. "It's the age old fight between them. House will get over it and he'll be in here annoying you again, trust me."

"Do they always bicker like that?" Andrew questioned.

"Yes," Chase said, feeling his heart starting to slow as the Lorazepam started coursing through his system. "Not quite usually at that level though. We communicate by bickering around here, half the time."

Wilson chuckled, breaking the tension ever so slightly.

"Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital," he muttered. "Where maturity goes to die."

Chase felt himself laugh for the first time since he'd woken up, but found that it rather made the area around his incision hurt.

"You need to get some sleep," Wilson continued, writing Chase's vitals down on the clipboard. He looked at Andrew. "Are you alright to stay in here for a little while?"

"No problem," Andrew replied, settling back into the chair.

"I'll get Foreman to come in here and relieve you after a while," Wilson said, making his way toward the door. "For now, House, Cameron, and Melinda are on suspension from the room."

He waved one last time, leaving Andrew and Chase alone.

"You alright Rob?" Andrew asked, linking his fingers together and leaning forward with a piercing gaze.

"Yeah," Chase said quickly, hearing the lie in his own voice.

"Liar."

"Yeah," Chase said again. "But I don't think I can stay awake long enough to talk about it right now."

"Fair enough," Andrew replied, reaching for the remote to flick on the tv. "Get some sleep."

Chase nodded again, his eyes falling closed as the mixture of Morphine and Lorazepam swept him away on the waves of unconsciousness.


	13. Dreams, Ghosts, and Father Figures

Ghosts of the Past

Chapter 13: Dreams, Ghosts, and Father Figures

A/N: Hello readers! Here is the next chapter, and it's extra long! I know some of you had voiced disappointment with how I handled the last chapter and who Chase chose to take care of him, but I promise I had my reasons for it, all of which have to do with a scene in this chapter that I'm hoping you'll all love! Please, do stick with me: thanks for all the reading, reviewing, alerting, and following, it is much appreciated! :)

Wilson felt a migraine coming on.

House sat across from him, reading glasses perched on his nose as he typed pointedly on the keyboard.

"I'll just watch my porn in front of you," he said, glancing over at Wilson. "You know I'll do it."

"Can you please just go talk to him? You're being ridiculous," he said, ignoring what he knew was a very real threat. "It's been five days."

"Nope," House replied, turning back to his computer.

"He could die, House," Wilson said softly.

House rolled his eyes.

"He's not going to die, and you know that full well. You got most of the tumor and the chemo and radiation will take care of the rest. Is it going to be hell? Yes. Is it possible he'll lose part of his lung? Yes. But he'll make it."

"Probably, but you don't KNOW," Wilson protested. "Anything can happen with cancer. Especially lung cancer. He got lucky."

"And I could get hit by a car tomorrow," House said, resolutely not looking at his best friend.

"All this because he chose Cameron to clean up his vomit?" Wilson said, his voice rising slightly. "After you guys bombarded him? Have you ever thought maybe you guys could, you know, take turns if you're so desperate?"

"Not the point!" House said, annoyed. "This is about…"

"This is about Chase having cancer and needing you to not act like an adolescent," Wilson said, cutting him off before his rant could even begin. "And don't tell me you don't care, because you do. Chase is your employee, he's one of the only friends you've got, and no matter how fervently you might argue with me, he's practically your protégée. He needs you."

"You know, I think he made it pretty clear he didn't need…"

"Stop!" Wilson exclaimed, bringing his hand down on the desk in an uncharacteristic show of physical anger. House, taken aback, stopped typing.

"Just knock it off!" Wilson continued. "I know you get confused when things aren't about _you_, but this is important."

House peered at him, remaining silent for a few seconds, but Wilson detected the flicker of worry and anger behind the mask of apathy he tried to force in front of his eyes.

"Look, Chase made his decision…"

"Yeah, after you and Cameron bombarded him right after he woke up from major surgery. Why does it have to be a choice of either you _or_ Cameron? Maybe, call me crazy, he needs the _both_ of you."

"She left!" House exclaimed. "She left and I took him back on the team in his time of need."

"Right because that's the only reason you wanted him back on the team," Wilson said, not bothering to hide his scoff. "You're still angry at the way Cameron left, and you even feel a little bit guilty for their marriage breaking up…"

Whatever Wilson or House might have said next was interrupted by the glass door swinging open, and the aforementioned woman walking in, Foreman following close behind, looking very much like he wanted to physically pull her back into the hallway.

"House," Cameron said, her voice almost a whisper. To Wilson, she looked once again like the shy brunette she'd been when she'd first come to Princeton-Plainsboro. "You haven't been in Chase's room for five days. I've seen you standing out there like a ghost when you think no one's looking."

"I can _stand_ anywhere I like," House insisted, taking his glasses off.

"I get it," she said, biting irritation injecting itself into her words. "You're angry at me. But don't take it out on Chase!"

"Oh," House said. "This has everything to do with Chase. Can you guys get out of my office now? I'm waiting on the results of a patient test."

"No you're not," Cameron shot back. "Taub and Masters came in to visit Chase before his first round of chemo, and then they both went home. No patient."

"Fine, I lied," House said. "Everybody lies. Or did you forget that already?"

Cameron crossed her arms, preparing for an argument, but Wilson could tell she was tired already. Chase's cancer, Chase's car accident, Cameron's return, had sent all of their dysfunctional hospital family reeling, and Wilson was afraid of the explosion that seemed imminent.

"I didn't forget anything that you taught me, good or bad," Cameron said, and Wilson sensed a venom in her voice that unnerved him. "But apparently you've forgotten that you care about Chase."

"And you've forgotten that you aren't married to Chase!" House shouted, surprising everyone in the room. "You appear to have forgotten that you left this hospital."

Cameron opened her mouth to reply, but Foreman spoke up first.

"Chase is in his first round of chemo, and you two are arguing about old grudges, old baggage?" he said. "Ever heard of priorities?"

"Foreman," Allison started to protest.

"No!" Foreman said, shaking his head. "You're both being ridiculous. We all are, letting ourselves get into petty arguments, taking sides."

"Just to be clear, I'm staying on my own side," House said, a familiar mocking in his tone.

"House!" Wilson began.

All of them were cut off by the abrupt clicking of heels in the hallway, the glass door swinging open for a second time.

"I just got paged about shouting coming from this office," Cuddy said, one hand resting on her hip as she surveyed them. "I should have guessed it was the lot of you in here."

"Sorry, Cuddy," Wilson said, looking a bit sheepish. "We were…debating."

"Well, it's causing a disturbance, so keep it down," she said, eyes flickering from Wilson to Foreman, from Cameron to House. "Isn't Chase in his first chemo treatment?"

"Yes," Cameron answered, also looking a tad embarrassed. "He should be done soon."

"Docetaxel?" Cuddy questioned.

"Yes," Wilson said. "And we're doing the first radiation treatment day after tomorrow. Doing them concurrently is the best chance of killing the rest of it."

"So basically what you guys are telling me," Cuddy began slowly, and Wilson knew they were in for it. "Is that instead of one of you sitting with Chase, you're in here arguing with each other?"

"Oncology didn't used to allow visitors during the chemo," Cameron said, glancing over at Wilson.

"Right," Cuddy said. "Because the people in this department and people in this department's friends are always so very interested in following protocol. Chase needs his friends, not arguments. As a matter of fact, Melinda is in there right now. And before you ask, yes, Chase agreed."

The door swung open a third time as Cuddy finished her sentence, and Andrew walked in, looking very much like someone who'd walked in on a family argument and wasn't quite sure how to react. Wilson's pager went off simultaneously.

"Uh…the nurse sent me down to tell all of you that Rob is done with his chemo," he said, staying in the doorway rather than entering. "I thought you should know."

"Thanks, Andrew," Cameron replied, starting to follow him out, Foreman behind her.

Wilson paused, knowing he needed to go and make sure Chase's treatment had gone as planned, yet wanted to find a way to make House come with them. He locked eyes with Cuddy, whose cell phone had started shrieking angrily at her.

"I…there's a legal problem with a patient I have to deal with," she said, apologetic. "I'll be back in a bit."

Wilson watched them go, then turned back to House, who stared back at him.

"Let me know how the treatment went," he muttered. "Don't forget."

But as Wilson exited, he stayed at his desk.

* * *

><p>An hour later, Chase found himself in his own bed for the first time in a week.<p>

And it was pure relief.

As much as he appreciated the support from all his friends and colleagues in the hospital, he desperately needed some privacy. He heard Andrew, who was using a week of his vacation time to stay a bit longer, moving around the kitchen while he put away food that would not test the nausea that nearly always went along with chemo; He'd volunteered to sleep on the couch while Allison slept in the guest room. Chase reveled in the feel of his sweats and a t-shirt, which was much better than the scrubs Foreman had scored him, or even worse, a hospital gown. He slumped against the pillows, careful to avoid touching his still healing ribs and wrist; he closed his eyes for a moment until the sound of sock feet padding on the carpet alerted him to Allison's presence.

"I come bearing drugs," she said, a small smile on her face as she handed him a glass of water and two pills. "The first one is the Medrol for the fluid retention, Wilson said to go ahead and take this other one to try and fend off nausea. But the first time is usually the worst, so…"

"I'm in for some fun," he finished for her.

Quiet fell between them as he swallowed the pills, and he suddenly wondered what the hell he was thinking by letting her back into his life, in this most vulnerable of states. Was it possible for them to simply be friends? What did he even want? He wasn't sure, and clearly neither was she. He shook his head slightly, trying to focus on the now, and the cancer treatment. He thought of House, who hadn't come to visit, and how he wished he would, the stubborn jerk.

Because he needed his asshole boss, weird as it might have sounded to most people. Some might call him a masochist for keeping House in his life, but despite the man's own instability, he'd been a stable presence in Chase's life for eight years, and that meant more than he could quite explain; as far as fathers went, Rowan had always been hot and cold, but House had always been…House. He hated House for being so stubborn, hated both him and Allison for bombarding him and putting him in the middle of their argument. He wanted both of them, needed both of them.

"House will get over it," Cameron said, breaking through the silence and seemingly reading his mind. "You know he will. And then he'll be breaking down your door, or something." She chuckled, shaking her head slightly.

"I never thought I'd hear you laugh about House's antics again," Chase said before he could stop himself.

There it was, the wall between them. The elephant in the room. They'd made peace the night of the lockdown, admitted that in some way they would always love each other…but House, and Cameron's belief that he had poisoned Chase, and Chase, with his choice to stay in Princeton, to stay with House…

"I didn't either," she said, meeting his eyes for a moment. "But I should really have known better, shouldn't I? Once House is in your life, he doesn't ever really let you go, no matter how pissed you get with him."

"I know," Chase admitted. He grinned a bit. "You don't usually admit you're wrong, though."

Cameron smiled. "I don't, no. But a year of self-introspection can make a person realize things. But being here…all of this…I don't know anymore."

"Me either," Chase said.

"You should get some rest," she said, a bit abruptly. "Andrew and I have a few things queued on Netflix, so we'll just be in the living room."

He couldn't help but think that it used to be _their_ living room.

Chase nodded and watched her go, blonde ponytail swinging behind her. It was so strange having here her in the home that used to belong to the both of them but now only belonged to him, and he wasn't entirely sure how he felt; it felt both so right and so strange all at once. He shook his head, trying to rid himself of the anxieties that plagued him. He'd allowed Melinda to sit with him through his chemo, because despite his anger toward her, she was the closest thing he had left to a mother. He'd seen dozens of his own patients go through chemo, but when it came to his own, he was terrified, and somehow she knew just what to do. She'd allowed him to talk about anything and everything other than what was happening.

And that was a relief.

He switched off the lamp and pulled the covers over him, the exhaustion hitting him rather suddenly as he closed his eyes and fell into a deep sleep.

_Chase opened his eyes slowly, irritated that he'd seemingly only been asleep for a few minutes. The room was dark though, no sunlight filtered in through the blinds, so maybe he'd been asleep longer than it felt. He closed his eyes again, trying to lull himself back to sleep. Odd…he couldn't even hear the hum of the television on the other side of the wall where Allison and Andrew were supposed to be watching movies. Had something happened?_

"_Robert." _

_The voice of his father was a shock to his system, going through him as if he'd touched a live power line. _

_He'd heard of some people having chemo-dreams, had heard of rare cases of hallucinations._

_But which was this?_

"_Dad?" he questioned. "What…what are you doing here?"_

"_You have lung cancer," Rowan said, ignoring his son's question._

"_I…yes," Chase said, unable to rip his eyes away from his father, who sat in the chair next to his bed, dressed impeccably in pants, tie, oxford button down and his stark white lab coat. _

"_Funny you didn't notice the symptoms," Rowan said. "But then again, you didn't notice them in me, either. What kind of diagnostician are you, I wonder?"_

_Chase felt his breath leave him as though someone had aimed a punch directly to his solar plexus. _

"_You think I didn't blame myself for that?" he shot back, even if he knew he was only arguing with a hallucination, a ghost, a dream. "You think I didn't lose sleep for weeks, for months…ever since?"_

"_I don't doubt you did, son," Rowan said, but there was no sympathy in his voice. "But why didn't you see? Dr. House saw."_

"_House sees everything," Chase said. _

"_But I thought the point of you training under him was so that you too, would see everything?" Rowan replied. "Isn't that what you told me when you moved away from Australia? Told me you wanted to solve the cases no one else could, save those lives that no one else could save? Wasn't that your excuse for leaving? Of course, I knew you were just trying to make up for losing your mother…"_

"_I'm a damned good diagnostician," Chase said fiercely, cutting his father off. "Even House has said so, in his own way."_

"_Forget about me," Rowan said, ignoring him again. "Why didn't you realize your own symptoms? You should have been on the lookout, cancer has been linked to some genetic traits."_

"_I had joint pain, fatigue, and had just started coughing," Chase argued. "How was I supposed to know it was lung cancer? I knew the minute I coughed up that blood. You know better than anyone that cancer can be asymptomatic for a long time."_

"_You deserve this you know," Rowan said, his grey eyes even colder than Chase remembered. "You deserve it for not realizing I was sick."_

"_Why didn't you just tell me?" Robert pleaded, feeling fury flood him even as tears pricked his eyes. "You came all the way here!"_

"_To tell you goodbye," Rowan said calmly, as if that was the answer to everything._

"_I didn't know it was goodbye!" Chase shouted. "You didn't tell me, Melinda didn't tell me…"_

"_Dr. House didn't tell you, either," Rowan pointed out. "Did you ever wonder why? Did you wonder why Dr. Wilson didn't break his confidentiality and tell you?"_

"_You should have been the one to tell me!" Chase said, rising from the bed. "Why the hell didn't you? What kind of father does that? It's so fucked up."_

"_Language," Rowan said, staying in his sitting position even as Chase moved toward him, unsure of whether he could punch someone in a dream or if he could punch a hallucination. "You couldn't save your mother from her alcoholism, and you couldn't save me. And now you can't be saved, either."_

"_I wanted to save her," Chase said, feeling himself crumple to the floor, a few tears slipping past his defenses. "But I couldn't. I tortured myself about not knowing you were sick. Do you know what it did to me, the shock of you dying? It ended up with me misdiagnosing a patient! And she died."_

"_Your friends won't be able to save you," Rowan said, malice in his voice. "You're a dead man."_

"_I'm not," Chase whispered. "You don't know anything."_

"_I know everything," Rowan answered. "They don't know how much you deserve this. What you deserve counts for something, doesn't it? And this cancer, it will kill you because of that."_

"_Cancer has nothing to do with what someone deserves," Chase argued. "It doesn't. Wilson says I have good chances…House…House will fix it."_

"_What a child you are," Rowan said, a truly disturbing smile curling at his lips. "You were always such a child, even as an adult. Such a hero complex, trying to save people who couldn't be saved, ever since your mother died. That's why you became an Intensitvist, it's why you wanted to train under House. You think these people care enough to save you, but their caring, if that's what it is, won't save your life."_

"_Shut up!" Chase screamed._

"_You're a dead man."_

Chase sat straight up in bed, the last words of a scream on his lips, a mixture of tears and sweat pouring down his face.

He was going to vomit.

Hetore out of bed and made it to the toilet just in time to throw up, retching violently over the porcelain bowl. He heard the bedroom door burst open, heard the footsteps of Allison and Andrew entering the bathroom.

"Robert?" Cameron questioned, going instantly into doctor mode as Andrew stood back, wide-eyed, trying to keep out of the way. "What happened? Does something hurt?"

The minute she said those words, the incision from his surgery felt like it was burning again, his whole body sore.

"I…the incision hurts."

"We heard shouting," Andrew volunteered. "What happened, mate?"

"Dream," Chase answered, feeling the bile rise in his still hurting throat.

He vomited again, tasting blood.

The chemo was making him vomit, and the still present cancer was causing the blood. Fantastic.

Cameron knelt down beside him, placing a gentle hand on his back, rubbing small circles into his skin as he dry heaved over the toilet. He coughed again, bright red blood dripping into the toilet water. Cameron's heart clenched, her breath coming in short gasps. She thought of Daniel, of his cancer, of so many nights spent like this, kneeling next to him on bathroom floors while he got sick.

She wouldn't lose Robert. She couldn't. It didn't matter that they weren't together anymore, because she still cared, because a part of her still loved him, perhaps a bigger part than she was willing to admit.

It wasn't rational, she knew…there was no way she had control over the cancer, but she vowed to stop it in its tracks. He didn't deserve this, he'd been through enough.

_Getting a disease isn't about what someone deserves_, she heard House say in her head.

She got up, the sound of Chase's ragged breathing ringing in her ears.

"Can you stay with him for a minute, Andrew?" she asked. "I need to make a call."

He nodded, taking a seat next to his friend without hesitation. She watched Chase smile slightly, the vomiting having ceased for the moment. She stepped back into the living room, where Some Kind of Wonderful was still playing in the background.

Because Chase loved John Hughes movies, and for whatever reason, watching them had made both Andrew and Cameron feel better. She pulled out her phone and dialed House's cell phone, which she had never deleted, even though she'd certainly considered it. It rang once, twice, a third time, until an ornery voice answered.

"House's House of whining, please state your complaint!" he said in a sing song voice. "Although on the other hand, I know you've got a laundry list, so if you don't mind I'll just hang up."

"House," Cameron said softly, feeling very much like a version of her younger self, the self that had believed her former boss and mentor could fix any disease, could figure anything out.

She'd once believed him invincible. They all had.

"Geez, enough with the _voice_," House whined. "I'm watching Real Housewives. What is it?"

"It's Chase, he's…"

"Sick?" House finished for her. "Of course he is. You're a doctor, plus you've been through this with someone. Why are you so shocked?"

"I'm not," Cameron said, trying to keep her defensiveness to a minimum. "He's vomiting, sweating, there's some blood, and I was expecting all that. I just…can you just come?"

"And why would I _deign_ to do that?" House asked, and Cameron could tell he was attempting to be extra callous to mask his concern. "You made it perfectly clear you could take care of this, that you didn't _need_ my help."

"I never said…"

"You basically did," House interrupted. "Not that I was surprised."

"I was wrong, okay?" Cameron sniped. "Happy now?"

"Maybe."

She softened her tone. "Are you going to make me beg? Chase needs you."

House sighed dramatically, and she could practically hear him rolling his eyes.

But she also knew he'd been waiting for this.

"Fine," he said. "But I'm Tivo-ing my show first. Priorities. Real Housewives first, cancer later."

The phone clicked off, and Cameron slid it back in her pocket, making her way back into the bathroom as she heard the sounds of more vomiting.

* * *

><p>House knocked on the door with his cane three times before Andrew opened it, looking tense.<p>

"Hello, Chase's fellow 'roo hunting pal," House quipped in his best Australian accent. He stepped in and closed the door behind him, again using his cane.

"You sure do make use of that thing," Andrew said dryly, choosing to ignore the kangaroo hunting comment. "Allison and Rob are in the bathroom."

"Onward then," House said, making his way toward the master bedroom and the bathroom within. He found Chase sitting up against the large tub, looking paler than he'd ever seen him. Cameron sat next to him, trying to convince him to drink some Ginger ale. Chase started upon seeing House.

"Oh sure. You refuse to speak to me for five days and then you show up when I'm puking," Chase said. "Wonderful."

"Blame Cameron," House said. "She's the one who called me. And besides, how else was I ever going to get to see you pay homage to the porcelain throne? All you ever drink is beer and wine, so I wouldn't get the pleasure of seeing you go through liquor induced vomiting. Besides that, I've been waiting _years_ for you to have an emotional breakdown."

"I have cancer."

"You have cancer AND you're having an emotional breakdown. I spent three months in a psych hospital, I'm well versed in these kinds of things."

"I'm going to check the hourly dosage on that anti-nausea medicine and call Wilson," Cameron said, rising from her position next to Chase. House noticed her hand brush the top of his head as she went, Andrew following behind her, clearly thinking that his friend needed a moment alone with his boss. Chase turned to House again.

"How about you follow them and get out?"

"Make me," House said childishly. "Oh wait, you can't! You have cancer and are currently stuck in here for fear of puking again."

"Bastard."

"That's not very nice."

"Neither are you, and I don't need you here taunting me when I feel like hell," Chase argued. "Now get out."

With that, House proceeded to lock the door and sat down gingerly down on the floor, completely blocking access to the exit.

"If you didn't want me here," House said slowly, locking eyes with his employee, whose eyes wouldn't meet his for more than a second. "Then maybe you should have told ex-wifey not to call me."

Chase remained silent, eyes fixed resolutely on the floor. House grinned.

"Ah, but you secretly wanted her to call me, didn't you?" House said, linking his fingers together and folding them over one knee. "You're a masochist."

"Yeah, well that might be true," Chase said, defiance in his eyes. House could read the anger that was directed toward him for his actions over the past five days in the younger man's expression. "But at least I'm not a sadist."

"Are you sure about that?" House asked, raising a single eyebrow. "I always secretly thought you might be into that, since you dated that banker who liked to be burned. Tell me, does Cameron like handcuffs? Maybe the pink fuzzy ones?"

"Are you _seriously_ asking questions about mine and Allison's past sex life while I'm here on the bathroom floor vomiting from chemotherapy?" Chase asked, and House was pleased to see that even after all these years, he could still shock his long-time employee. "Get _out_."

"Just trying to break the tension," House said. "And you didn't say no to my question…"

He was cut off by the jiggling of the doorknob.

"House?" Cameron asked. "What are you doing, unlock the door!"

"Not a chance," House replied. "We're busy in here."

"Yes, discussing my non-existent love of fuzzy pink handcuffs, I heard," she shot back. "Open the door. I called Wilson. He's with some patients, but he'll be here in about 45 minutes."

"Why did you call _Wilson_?" House asked, exasperated. "He ruins EVERYTHING."

"No, _you_ ruin everything," Cameron said, quick as lightning. "And gee, I don't know, maybe I called because he's the oncologist?"

"House," Chase said, obviously growing more exhausted by the minute. "Just let Allison in."

"Huh. You're calling her Allison again. Interesting," House said.

"No it isn't," Chase said, annoyed. "That's her name."

"No, her name is Cameron," House insisted. "If you call her Allison, I get to call you Robbie."

A storm erupted in Chase's eyes, and for a moment, House actually thought the kid might get up and punch him.

It wouldn't be the first time, after all.

Instead, he spoke, a strange brokenness in his tone

"Do not, under any circumstances, _ever_ call me that. Give me a Vicodin."

It was House's turn to be surprised.

"I never thought I'd hear those words pass your lips," he said. He was amused, but now, even if didn't want to admit to himself, he was starting to worry.

"Look, my incision hurts like hell, and my lungs feel like they're on fire," Chase said, his voice nearly a whisper. To House he suddenly looked incredibly young, even more than usual.

He pulled the bottle of Vicodin from his pocket and popped the cap, the familiar sound alerting Cameron, who had placed herself on the other side of the door.

"Robert, don't let him talk you into doing anything stupid," she warned.

"I'm giving pain meds to a cancer patient, how is that stupid?" House scoffed. "Besides, it was his idea."

"Chase, I'm serious," Cameron said again. "Pop one Vicodin …"

"Ooo, reverting to use of the last name," House said, turning to Chase and handing him the white pill and the half empty bottle of Ginger ale. We must be in trouble now."

"Come on Allison," Chase said, popping the pill into his mouth and swallowing. "Wilson said he would write me a pain script if I needed it."

"Exactly. Your own script. Not Vicodin. Wilson would think this was a terrible idea."

"Oh contraire, mon ami," House said. "Wilson thinks most of my ideas are pretty awesome. In fact, he even said once that he thought monuments should be built in my honor."

"I think he said they could build monuments to your self-centeredness," Cameron replied.

"Same difference," House said.

House heard Cameron sigh in vexation, felt her slide down onto the floor and sit against the door, landing in precisely the same spot as him but on the opposite side. Twenty or so minutes passed, interwoven with Cameron's huffs as she pretended to read a magazine on the other side of the door, and two instances of Chase dry heaving over the toilet.

Then the Vicodin kicked in.

"House," Chase asked. "How do you work while taking these things? Do you always feel like this?"

"No, you idiot," House answered. "I've built a tolerance, in case you've failed to notice."

"It hardly even hurts anymore," Chase continued. "I feel…outside of myself. Floaty. 'S better than being drunk."

House snorted. "You're much more tolerable when you're high, you know?" he said. "Hey Cameron, how about you have one?"

She did not dignify him with a response, seemingly having accepted the fact that he would not unlock the door until he was ready. Or until Wilson got there.

"I had a dream about my dad, House," Chase said abruptly. "Or a hallucination. Something."

"Chemo-dreams, huh?" House asked. "So what did good old Rowan have to say? Did he recommend a better treatment from beyond the grave? I've heard ghosts can do that."

"He told me I deserved it. The cancer."

House met Chase's eyes, and saw them growing suspiciously wet, his defenses down from the mixture of drugs he was on.

"Well, sure," House said, trying to joke his way through this. "You had a wrinkle in your shirt last week, and I'm sure your father taught you better. Who doesn't deserve cancer for that?"

"Don't be stupid, House," Chase said, and House felt his ill-tolerance of the Vicodin in the way he spoke. "He said I deserved it because I couldn't tell he was sick. And because I couldn't save my mum. He said if you saw he was sick, I should have seen it too."

House frowned, for once finding that he regretted a joke.

"It was a dream, Chase," he said serious now. "It doesn't mean anything."

"It does though," Chase rambled on, his normal emotional shield nowhere in sight. "He was right. I deserve it…I couldn't stop my mum from drinking herself to death, I didn't even realize my dad was sick, so I didn't know it was goodbye…"

"Those are your parents' screw ups," House insisted.

"He said that none of you could save me," Chase went on, hardly even processing House's words. "That none of you really cared. He told me I was a dead man…"

Chase's voice broke, and he wiped furiously at his eyes as tears slipped forth.

"Chase, don't…"

"I do deserve it, I do," Chase said, his voice barely audible, his eyes closed, almost as if he'd quite forgotten House was in the room. "It's my fault they're dead, and now I have to die too, it's only fair…"

House was silent, lost for how to respond, lost for a way to handle his usually emotionally zipped up fellow.

Then before Chase could even move, he threw up again, the combination of his raw emotions and the chemo proving too much. He lunged for the toilet but missed, vomit pooling around the edges and landing on his shirt. He coughed over the toilet, but nothing else came up. House watched him close his eyes, red creeping into his skin in pure embarrassment.

"Dammit," he breathed, Australian accent husky with exhaustion.

House didn't move for a few seconds, then before he quite knew what he was doing, he grabbed the roll of paper towels sitting on the floor and began wiping up the mess and throwing it into the trash can.

"I think you might as well just get rid of this trash can," he muttered. "Or it will always smell like puke."

"House, I…God, I'm sorry," Chase said, apologizing profusely. "I didn't…"

"Kid, I've seen aggravated pustules, 3rd degree burns, and protruding bones…do you really think a little vomit is going to get me all hot and bothered?" House asked, throwing the last the paper towels into the trash can. If he had believed in God, he would curse him right now, for a number of things.

"I just…" Chase said, struggling to regain control of his emotions. "I'm so…"

"I know," House said, surprised at the gentleness in his own voice. "Here," he said gesturing to Chase's t shirt. "Let's get this off. No one likes a messy, puke covered foreigner."

House heard the barest hint of a chuckle escape Chase's lips, but even if it was a cheap laugh, it was a laugh nonetheless. _What have you gotten yourself into_, he asked himself. _Since when did you come over to take care of employees? _That was the trouble with keeping employees for long periods of time…it made you care. It made them become more than just employees; he'd grudgingly become a mentor, a twisted father figure, and a messed up friend to the man sitting in front of him.

And caring meant possible loss.

Chase raised his arms over his head, and House noticed just how violently he was shaking. Once the shirt was removed he tossed in into the trash can as well. Chase fell back against the tub, wincing slightly at the cold.

"I just can't believe she left," he murmured, almost more to himself than House.

"She died, Chase," House said, confused. "That's not the same as leaving."

Chase sat up straighter, squinting his eyes at House. "She's not dead."

"You just said she died…" House was starting to worry for the kid's sanity, and he didn't know how much more he could take tonight, his kind action quota have gone well past its limit.

"What? Who?" Chase asked.

"Your mom, idiot. Who the hell are you talking about?"

Chase's eyes widened, and House knew instantly that he wasn't referring to his mother anymore...in his Vicodin induced high, he was talking about Cameron. And judging from the sudden movement on the other side of the door, Cameron realized it too. She'd left them alone for several minutes now, and House found his earlier irritation towards her ebbing.

"No one...I.." Chase said, trying to recover. "You're right. It's not the same."

It was silent for a few moments, until House heard another voice on the other side of the door.

"House, unlock this thing," Wilson called, sounding tired and concerned. "Is Chase okay?"

House groaned, then rose from his position on the floor and opened the door.

"For the love of God, Jimmy, can't you see we were busy going at it like rabbits in here?" he said, pointing to the now shirtless Chase, who looked predictably horrified at House's joking.

House watched Wilson and Cameron's eyes both dart from the trash can full of paper towels and Chase's vomit soaked shirt simultaneously. As Cameron came in to help Chase back to the bed, he heard her whisper, "thanks, House," so softly he might have imagined it. He followed them out, and Wilson met his eyes, shaking his head, a smile playing at his lips.

"What, smartass?" House barked at his friend.

"I knew you couldn't stay away," Wilson said simply, moving over to check on Chase.

House knew he would never hear the end of this.


	14. A Close Encounter and a Letter

Ghosts of the Past

A/N: I don't even know if know if me apologizing will make you forgive me, but I'm really, reallyyyy sorry! I've been working on so many things, I did NanoWrimo, and this fic just got neglected. But no matter how long it takes, it will get finished! This chapter has both Chase/Cameron and Chase/House father/son moments, so hopefully there is something for everyone!

Chapter 14: A Close Encounter and a Letter

At the end of his first week of treatment, Chase felt significantly better than he had in days; perhaps it was a side effect of the pain meds (not Vicodin, coincidentally), or perhaps his mood was just better, but he would take what he could get. Wilson implemented a bi-weekly regimen, and so Chase had the next week off. He'd asked to come back to work, but not only had House flatly refused him, but Cuddy also put her foot down.

"We'll see how you're doing after the first month," she'd promised him. "But right now you've just been in a car wreck, had major surgery, and are fighting cancer."

"In other words, take a vacation for fuck's sake," House had said.

Not that sitting in his apartment sick from chemo was his idea of a vacation, but so it was. He'd bid farewell to Andrew just yesterday, but his oldest friend had promised he'd be back in a month, no matter what the cost.

He stretched out on the couch, some kind of goofy daytime television playing in the background, a novel open on his lap. He wasn't interested in the television program, he just preferred it to the silence. Cameron was in the shower, but he heard the water turn off, and a few minutes later, she was in the living room, offering him a smile. He had to admit, she was good at playing the role of sick person caretaker. She'd taken care of him when he hadn't the flu a couple of times when they were together; this of course, was an entirely different level, but, he grimly reminded himself, she'd had plenty of practice.

"Hey," she said. "You look a little brighter than when I went in to take a nap. Feeling better?"

"I don't feel terrible for once," he responded, closing the book over his finger, smiling slightly. "So that's something."

"I'm glad," she said, and he could feel her eyes trained on his face. They'd been so involved with the treatment, and her agreement to share "Chase-sitting responsibilities with House" as House put it, that they'd hardly been alone, and when they had Chase was either getting sick, sleeping, or she was trying to make him keep food down.

So now the air was chock-full of several emotions, a few of which Chase could identify, while the others remained elusive. Yet the feelings were palpable. Real.

"I ate all the broth and crackers you made," Chase said, pointing to the tray containing the empty bowl. "So that was a victory in itself."

"It is," Cameron agreed. "That's probably the first time all week, I can tell you're losing weight already." Her brow furrowed in concern, a frown marring her features.

"Kind of goes with the territory," he said, gentle because he knew this was triggering memories for her.

Looking at the clock, he reached for one of his pharmacy full of medications only to realize that Cameron was doing the same, their hands grazing over the bottle of medicine.

Their faces were dangerously close.

Too close.

And then as though he was outside of himself, Chase leaned in, his forehead touching Cameron's.

She leaned closer, painstakingly hesitant, careful, and before he quite knew what was happening, their lips met and he was returning her fragile, gentle kiss.

A jolt of electricity shot through Chase's entire body as her hand carefully traveled over his face, memorizing him.

No, he couldn't do this. He shouldn't.

They broke apart slowly, and he saw the blush creeping into Cameron's cheeks, but it wasn't because she was ashamed. She was breathing hard, sweat prickling at her temples and Chase knew her reaction was just as intense as his. The sensation of her lips against his own was almost too much for them both, and soon what had started out as an innocent kiss became desperate…greedy. They broke apart again, breathless, and Chase felt his walls threatening him; but for once, he didn't sense Cameron's. She was hesitant, but he was terrified.

Yet, he couldn't stop.

He needed her.

The fear of his cancer flooded him entirely again…his fear of the pain, his fear of dying.

The fear of isolating everyone around him.

His body filled with a warm, intoxicating sensation, and instead of fighting it, he succumbed to its overwhelming power. Suddenly he pulled Cameron to his chest, a trembling arm around her waist as he captured her lips with his own, initiating the kiss this time. Chase could feel her desperation in the way she kissed him, the way she laced her fingers around his own, her grip growing tighter as her breathing grew shallower. They shouldn't do this, Chase told himself. Did he still love her?

Yes.

A part of him certainly still loved her.

And this was very much about loving her.

But it was also about the both of them running away from their fear of his illness.

Her back was against the arm of the couch now and he pressed closer, raising his arms and allowing her to slip his shirt off, mindful of his still healing ribs.

"We shouldn't," he whispered. "I know we shouldn't."

She stared him hard in the eyes, her gaze blazing with the intensity he knew so well. She dropped his shirt to the floor and kissed him chastely again.

"I know," she whispered. "I know. But I…"

He made up his mind and cut her off with a kiss to which she responded with vigor, wrapping her arms tight around his neck, her knees hugging his sides.

Chase felt a familiar tickle in his throat, felt his air supply draining, a coppery taste in his mouth. He pulled away, a cough ripping through him.

"Oh God, Robert," Cameron whispered, grabbing several tissues from the pile on the table and placing them under his mouth just as the door opened.

"Well," House's familiar voice groused. "Looks like I'm interrupting something."

"Just me coughing my lungs up," Chase wheezed, grasping for breath. "Possibly literally."

"Right," House replied, closing the door behind him. "That's why you two are all tangled up and you're missing your shirt."

"House," Cameron chided, clearly embarrassed at being caught, cheeks flushing scarlet. "Ever heard of you know, knocking?"

"What?" House asked. "Don't get me wrong, the two of you are being absolute morons, but at least you're getting orgasms out of it. Or, well… you were. Before I barged in."

"Mood killer," Chase muttered, pulling his shirt back on, the coughing ceased.

"Actually," House said, eyeing Cameron's blood speckled t-shirt. "I think the cancer is a mood killer."

Chase's eyes followed House's eyes and then widened.

"Alison, God, I'm sorry," he said, apologizing profusely, his mood plummeting.

"It's alright," she said, standing up and sending him a smile. "Kind of goes with the territory. I'm going to go change and head to the pharmacy, you're almost out a couple of these scrips."

House waited until the guest room door shut before continuing with his snarky comments.

"Why so upset about getting blood on her shirt?" he asked, sitting down in the armchair next to Chase and twirling his cane. "It's not like you haven't shared fluids before. It's not as if you weren't about to share more."

"House, just shut up," Chase muttered, suddenly too exhausted for anger.

"Sensitive, sensitive," House replied, but Chase felt his boss' eyes roving over him. "I'm just saying, getting involved with your ex-wife? Tricky stuff."

"You don't…"

"Know how complicated your relationship is?" House interrupted. "Yeah, I think I do. I've been watching it since the day the two of you started working together."

Chase flopped against the couch, watching Cameron emerge from her room dressed in a fresh shirt.

"I'm just going to run to the pharmacy and to the store really quick," she said, still looking embarrassed.

Chase's mind flew back to a distant memory.

_What you've never had anyone watch before?_ She'd asked, glancing up at their patient's cat who was staring down at them.

Chase had always admired Cameron's somewhat hidden streak of confidence and occasional bouts of unabashed playfulness, but that Cameron was missing in action right now.

"Do you want anything while I'm out?"

"Beer," House replied.

"Gingerale," Chase responded, talking over House. "Thank you."

Cameron nodded, skittering out the door.

"Geez, she's nervous about something," House remarked, fiddling with something in his pocket.

"Yeah," Chase said. "Maybe the fact that you walked in on us. Do we have to keep talking about this?"

"What, don't like talking to daddy about misbehaving?" House quipped, pulling out an envelope.

"Not particularly," Chase shot back without missing a beat. "What's that?"

"Something Melinda sent with me," House replied, suddenly much more serious. "Speaking of fathers."

"But Melinda's my…" Chase began, then his eyes widened in realization. "Is that something from my father?"

"Bingo, smarty-pants!" House exclaimed, still keeping the letter close to himself. "It's a letter from good old Rowan himself."

"What, from beyond the grave?" Chase asked, reaching out for it. "Can I have it, please?"

"Not just yet," House answered. "And no, not from beyond the grave. But it is from before he died. And it's addressed to you."

"House stop screwing with me," Chase said, suddenly harsh. "It isn't funny."

"I'm not," House said. "I'm just making sure you're ready to read what's inside. Your father wrote this and never sent it, but Melinda thinks it's long time you had it."

Chase paused, feeling his heart leap into his throat, his hands shaking profusely. Keep calm, he told himself. Keep calm.

It's just a letter.

_A letter from a long-dead father._

"She does, does she?" he asked, swallowing hard and meeting House's gaze. "Why now?"

He knew why, of course. He just needed to hear someone else say it, and he knew he could count on House. His boss seemed to know this, but indulged him.

"Because of your diagnosis, duh," he said. "She feels guilty for not betraying your father's wishes and telling you he was ill. So even though your father said he didn't want you to see it, she's giving it to you anyway. It's her one chance to redeem herself."

"In her eyes," Chase protested, the memory of Melinda's confession fresh in his mind.

He wasn't sure he could forgive her. Not yet.

"That's all that matters to people," House replied. "Who cares if you actually think she's redeemed if she feels redeemed?"

"Some people might," Chase argued.

"You'll forgive her," House said bluntly. "I know you well enough to know that."

"I'm angry!" Chase shouted, suddenly passionate. "What makes you so damn sure."

"Because I know you," House said again. "And yes, of course you're angry, and you might hold a grudge for a while, but you will forgive her…there's too much of that Catholic boy in you. But I didn't say you'd forget."

He handed the letter over and Chase stared at it for a moment, remembering the dream about his father.

"_You're a dead man…" _he'd said repeatedly. _"Your friends can't save you."_

With one last look at House (who is shooting him an almost fatherly gaze himself, and Chase isn't sure where it's coming from) he carefully slits open the yellowed envelope, finding it's incredibly hard to breathe as he pulls out the single sheet of type-written paper.

_Dear Robert,_

_You won't receive this until after I'm dead, and I'm doing that on purpose. I could overnight it, I suppose, and you could scramble to pack your bags, pay an exorbitant amount of money for a last minute ticket, and still you might not make it in time. _

_I'm dying, you see, of lung cancer. I've got a few days left at most, and I'm so weak that Melinda is transcribing this letter for me._

_I was dying when you saw me last, but I saw fit not to tell you, saw fit to demand that Dr. House, who found me out, not tell you. You're wondering why, I'm certain. The truth is, I wanted to spare you trying to save me. We've always argued about your hero-complex, and I didn't want your desire to save me to get in the way of your life, the life you've built for yourself, a life you should be proud of._

_I realize now…that I might have been wrong in hiding this from you, might have been wrong in not giving you credit for being the adult you are. It certainly wouldn't be the first time I made a mistake concerning you._

_Our relationship has always been tumultuous, Robert, and I know that my apologies can't make up for the sort of father I was and for my absence in so much of your life. Can't make up for me keeping this from you._

_But nevertheless._

_I am sorry._

_And despite all of our disagreements and our estrangement, you are my son, and I do love you. _

_Sincerely,_

_Your Father_

Chase's heart is pounding in his ears so hard it's all he can hear.

He's sorry?

Despite everything you're my son and I love you?

Chase is furious and relieved all at once, almost completely unable to process what he's just read.

"It doesn't even matter," he said. "None of things he says here even matter because he didn't send it. Couldn't dare showcase any sense of vulnerability to his own son," Chase seethed, chucking the letter halfway across the room, watching it float lamely near House's perch. "He's sorry? Well, I don't forgive him. Fuck that."

House gazed at him for a moment, picking up the letter where it fell.

"May I?" he asked, sounding almost polite.

"Sure," Chase said, shrugging. "What do I even care?"

"You care a lot," House replied, unfolding the letter. "But I'm too lazy to argue that point just now."

It's silent between them for a few minutes while House reads the letter, his expression unreadable.

"Well," he said, finally looking up. "I'm not surprised he didn't send this."

"You're…what?" Chase asked. "You think he shouldn't have sent it?"

"Not what I said," House answered, very much looking like an idea was forming in his head. "I said I'm not surprised he decided not to send it. He's admitting he's wrong here, and it was my impression that he never liked to admit that. He had a moment of weakness and then couldn't follow through."

"He was my father," Chase insisted. "If he had sent this at least I would have…"

"What?" House interrupted. "Felt better? No, you still would have been just as shocked and just as angry. " He paused, contemplating the younger man before him. "Say, do you have any extra drinking glasses around this place? Anything breakable you don't have any particular attachment to?"

Chase stared at him.

"Um…there are some boxes of extra drinking glasses that Cameron and I got as a wedding present that we didn't need?" he said, phrasing it as a question.

"Perfect," House responded. "Come on, kid. We're going to release some of that pent up anger."


End file.
